A Lifetime of Mean Reds
by Penguin-Vitamin
Summary: Chadpay. Through a series of flashbacks, Chad and Sharpay recognize that fate has kept them apart for too long. But a loveless marriage and odd timing throws the pair into a relationship of guilty satisfaction neither had expected, or really wanted.
1. Once More With Feeling, and Fans

(A Lifetime of Mean Reds)

(Chapter 1)

(Once More, with Feeling…and Fans)

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The fan must've been defunct or something.

Chad's arms hovered somewhere above his head as a batch of lukewarm air created nothing but a stuffy, uncomfortable atmosphere. Two in the afternoon, Chad had unsuccessfully avoided the heat via ice cubes, something with a refrigerator, and a cold shower, but he wasn't sure that had actually done anything. Despite his efforts, the heat was preserving and annoying, a silent suffocation on anything remotely alive. Stuck inside studying for an exam he really didn't care for, Chad would have to surrender to the heat until the clock struck four.

And it was _January_.

Chad's room, the only said room with its own fan, was soaking in the heat, and the ceiling fan wasn't doing much more than mixing up the thick air. He could hear the buzz of the blades rotate over and over.

The ceiling fan hummed a constant tune.

The Spanish text book called his name, but the heat and the fan's tune had retired any hope of studying. Blankets of warmed air and the sounds of the colloquial fan tempted Chad right into a sleepy daze; he leaned into the wooden chair, staring at the white plaster of the ceiling.

Three years. It had been three years.

UCLA was treating the 21-year-old basketball star well: a full scholarship and an energetic city spoiled Chad more than he ever imagined, but the experience was a definite and real one. The enthusiastic East High was a relic of the past, the days of heists and drama-obsessed teachers over and shoved away, because college made room for the real highlights: parties, girls, and overbearing term papers.

College life, a distinct upgrade from high school, was four years of self-discovery, hard work, and alcohol.

Oh, coffee, too.

Chad took a deep breath before returning his glance to the needy text in front of him. The fan's rhythm, now stapled somewhere between his skull and his brain, smothered Chad against the heat. He sat back with irritation, wiping the sweat from his brow in an attempt to cool things down. But the rhythm could not be wiped away; it was tattooed into his mind as it slowly brought about the one thing Chad felt bothered by:

Nostalgia.

He cast another look to the fan; its tune stirred something up in a violating manner as it soon muffled to a whisper of some conversation. Chad couldn't find an anchor, and his thoughts slowly drifted.

_Sharpay_.

--- **East High, Junior Year **

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The dance was a mixture of flashing lights, bodies, and sweat.

The rhythm of the music encouraged the bodies to grind, crunch, and violate, the flashing lights and close contact heating up the room and fogging the windows. It was overcrowded because the gym was never large enough, and patriotic kids with school spirit rarely abandoned an East High event. Couples, once alone with their partners, had unintentionally formed the crowd of dancing students—one group: an inviting assembly of grinding teenagers.

Chad grinned while playing with a lock of Sharpay's hair. "Isn't this a little too low class for you?"

Sharpay smirked. "This entire school's a little too low class for me, Danforth."

The music's beat died down as Chad's arm tangled around Sharpay's waist. Somewhere in his expression he smirked back at her, yet his mouth spoke no words. He could feel the heat of her body against his, or maybe that was the three hundred other students behind him, but it didn't matter. She was the only focus he needed at that moment.

"Wanna go?"

"Lead the way."

The crowd barely separated for the departing pair.

They ended up at a fast food joint, the only restaurant breathing at such an hour. He was eating a sandwich with too many calories; she indulged in a lot of French fries. It was midnight, and this had become ritualistic.

The restaurant was empty.

Chad leaned over to Sharpay, his mouth against hers in a quick kiss. He then smiled at her, watching her consume the French fries without a natural care. "Enjoying yourself?"

"As always," she said too flatly.

Chad leaned in closer. "Once more, with _feeling_, Sharpay."

Sharpay threw him a disgusted look. "Singing vampires shouldn't be referenced…ever, Chad," Sharpay replied, and she sipped her coke directly after.

"…What?"

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Oh, never mind." But she smiled at Chad before kissing him again.

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Chad stood up from the desk, shoving his chair aggressively from him as he paraded to the fridge. Sharpay—that sociopath of a theater beauty, the iced royal. He hadn't thought of her in almost two years.

He turned from the fridge after he had grabbed a water bottle.

Sharpay.

Twinkle Towne.

Rejection.

Junior year.

A lot of dates and stolen kisses…

The hats went up. Graduation.

Cautiously, he looked to the ceiling fan a final time, the rhythm of the fan clickingclickingclicking. How could a random beat from a fan that couldn't even ward off heat bring up memories of Sharpay? Of all people…

Setting the water bottle down, Chad walked to the fan and promptly turned it off.

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Sharpay Evans' head rested against the clothes dryer, its beat thumping through her skull. Her eyes blinked, and she realized that she was being closely scrutinized. She asked, irritably, "What?"

The girl sitting next to her said, "You're not listening!" Sharpay winced at the voice, reminescent of cheerleaders who were more cheer and less lead. When a piercing voice was threatening to bore a hole in your eardrum, you screamed as much as you could to drown it out.

"Sorry, I'm not a dog."

"What?"

Sharpay held herself back from saying it. "Nothing," she sighed. "I was just thinking." At the girl's face, she smirked, and couldn't help it any more. "As foreign as that may seem to you."

A beat. "What were you thinking about?" Sharpay fought hard not to roll her eyes.

"Someone."

"From AMDA?" She wondered how the girl knew she'd come from AMDA.

"From a long time ago." The thumping behind her stopped, and she gathered her clothes, pulling on a freshly-warmed sweatshirt. "It was nice talking to you," she said in a voice that meant "I hope rabid weasels eat your face."

She gritted her teeth as she made her way back up the stairs to her dorm room at NYU, replaying the past conversation with her laundry companion. For some reason, none of it made sense, some sure-to-be-important syllables of speech were, in her mind, absorbed into the rhythmic thumping of the dryer.

Two things she hated: doing her own laundry and conversations about her past, and of course, they had to happened together. She felt exhausted.

She dropped the basket next to her bed and lay back on the matress, thankful that her roommate, a fellow AMDA attendee, understood enough to not ask questions. Unfortunately, because of that damned dryer, her brain was currently exploring memories she'd purposefully put away before she'd let for AMDA.

AMDA. The American Musical and Dramatic Academy, hours of practice, years of hopes and dreams, a lifetime of stage performances, completely crushed and rebuilt in two years. College term papers and comprehensive exams were nothing compared to it.

But then, college was the next logical step, so she went, the only perk being she could legally drink during freshman year. And four more years to enjoy the snow outside right now, but that was beside the point.

The point was...

She had spent her entire life preparing for this, preparing for the six years that would make her into a Broadway star, and it never occurred to her that she would fail. It didn't occur to her now. The difference was, she'd never thought about anything else but this dream, this dream that was so very close to coming true. Her entire life was fixated on one single debut night.

Until now. Stupid memories of a stupid past life, brought up by stupid activities with stupid, fashionably challenged people.

She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and brought her head up to look carefully at Michelle, who was reading her notes on Modern Dance. Michelle glanced at her, and said, in much the same way Sharpay had said to the Laundry Room girl, "What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking."

"Mm."

"I miss high school," she said impulsively, and then frowned at the lie. She didn't really miss high school.

"Do you really?" Michelle asked, uninterested.

"No. Unwashed exhibitionists whose phermones probably led to hideously deformed children."

"Story of our lives."

"It probably built character or something. Made me driven to succeed, to get the hell out of there." That was a lie, too, but she didn't answer Michelle's next question, determined to stop this line of discussion that she'd started.

Chad Danforth, wherever he was right now, whatever he was doing, was going to vacate her mind, even if she had to resort to horribly non-chalant tactics to distract herself.

She shook her head forcefully, and pursed her lips to whistle the introduction to _The Light in the Piazza_.

Michelle raised an eyebrow and asked, "What's wrong with you today?"

Sharpay said, "I was just accosted by a Laundroumat Cheerleader."

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_End Chapter 1_

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**A/N: **If you haven't figured it out already, this is a joint story by TehFuzzyPenguin and StarVitamin; if you're bored, read the profile and you'll see we both have our respective accounts and fandoms. Chadpay's extremely ignored, so here'll be a 15 or more chapter fic concerning the pairing. And if things go right, it'll be the most epic Chadpay out there, man. And that's pretty sad.

So, the flashback makes a reference to _Buffy the Vampire Slayer's_ musical episode called _Once More, With Feeling_. It's not bad, just sort of laughed at.

Anyway, about the format of this story: TehFuzzyPenguin and I (StarVitamin) don't write individual chapters—we each write halves OF EVERY CHAPTER. I write everything concerning Chad, and she writes everything involving Sharpay. All chapters will start off with the **THIRD PERSON** view of either Chad or Sharpay, and it will switch off with each new chapter. So, I start chapter 1 with Chad, and TehFuzzyPenguin starts of chapter 2 with the third person view of Sharpay. Back and forth.

Chad's and Sharpay's views are SEPARATED by a **flashback** involving both of them. This takes place in _every_ chapter. Both characters have the flashback, which is why it's in the middle of the chapter, as it CONNECTS Chad and Sharpay together, despite their separate locations.

Yes, yes, it's confusing as a theory but much easier when written in actual fiction.

We have about 11 chapters written, and it'd be done by now if I wasn't so flipping slow with my chapters. So yes, any delay time is probably my fault. I have no idea when we'll be updating, whatever Robin wants to do.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment. We've worked on this since MARCH, guys, and we'd pretty much adore any feedback. Anonymous, signed, we don't care, we just wanna hear your thoughts, so please enlighten us.

**Quick word from Robin**: Sharpay is awesome. It took us a while, but it's the funnest thing ever. I'm at Governor's School, sorry for the lack of any fiction at all, I have no energy. Johnny Depp makes my life.

Oh, and I swear to something ANs will never be this long again.

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**Disclaimer: Disney Channel owns HSM and everything associated with it. **


	2. Singles Awareness Day and Breakfast Food

(A Lifetime of Mean Reds)

(Chapter 2)

(Singles Awareness Day and Breakfast Food)

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When she'd first moved in, Sharpay did not relish the idea of having a roommate. At any performing arts college, it did not do well to live with potential competition. And really, where would she put all her clothes if half the living space was being occupied?

She didn't exactly relish her roommate now, but sometimes, it was good to have someone around who was the other half of sane that Sharpay was missing.

Now, it seemed, Michelle was the one in want of sanity.

"Tomorrow's Valentine's Day!" Michelle exclaimed.

"In the five years that I've known you, you have never been this excited over Valentine's Day. And even if tomorrow is Valentine's Day, that's still no excuse to _cover_ your bed with felt and cardstock and construction paper and piping and _glitter_." Sharpay picked up the container of said glitter. "If you sneeze, I will have to smother you with my newly-shiny pillow."

"Oh, don't be so bitter, Sharpay, it's a day of love!"

"Not yet," she was careful to add.

"Jeez, Evans, at least pretend to be happy. You don't have any classes tomorrow. Anyway, I thought it'd be nice to make Valentines for all my friends. They're so wonderful to me!"

"Please, extract that arrow before I go on a winged-baby hunting rampage."

"Fine, you won't get any glitter on yours."

Sharpay's eyes widened. "Oh no, anything but that. You know how much I love glitter...the herpes of craft supplies." She twisted her lip at Michelle's offended face, and rolled over on her own, _clean, tidy, made-up every morning after waking up _bed to get some sleep.

She woke up the next morning to a horrifying vision of white cardstock with red piping glued around its edges. She wondered how Michelle managed to prop it there without waking her. God was somewhat merciful, and no glitter waited to flake off the card onto her sheets. Michelle had taken care to use a red marker to write:

_Happy Valentine's Day, Evans, even if you're all glass half empty about it. I love you, and you know that no matter what happens, I'll always be there for you. _(Sharpay grunted disbelievingly at this)_ Thanks for being a great roomie!_

The rest of the space was occupied by a giant "#1," in red. She dropped the card on her pillow, and closed her eyes, trying to retain some vestige of rationalism on a cold, Tuesday morning.

Her eyes eased open again at around noon, and, in a noticeably worse mood, she declared to herself that she was going to celebrate Singles Awareness Day instead of lying around.

Sharpay got dressed quickly, jeans and a top picked from Michelle's closet (it was cute and looked better on her, anyway) and stalked down the hall to scrounge movies and low-cal ice cream from other students.

No one had _Casablanca_ or _Breakfast At Tiffany's _or _Bringing Up Baby_ (She was beginning to think that she was the only person who _deserved_ to be at this school) and the only ice cream available was a gruesome blend of strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, and five months of residence in a mini-fridge (otherwise known as Neapolitan).

And everywhere she looked, there was blatant unawareness of singles. She almost swore off human contact forever when she walked into Alice's room, expecting to find a stack of DVD's and getting something much less useful. (She'd eaten pizza on that bed last week, and while she was far from a prude, what _they_ were doing went a bit too far.)

Twenty minutes in, and Singles Awareness Day was already worth giving up. She returned to bed a little subdued, and lay under the covers fully dressed, running her fingers over the piping on her Valentine. How silly it looked, all alone in her hand, when years before, she had been overburdened with gilded pieces of cardboard trying to win her favor. No favor was rewarded, but they were still there, and at the end of the day, Sharpay Evans always had a better haul than any child on Halloween.

Now. Senior year of college. So close to success she can dream without longing. About to spend the rest of her life giving away her soul on a stage, and maybe someday, sharing a soul when she ran out, but that was just a romanticist talking on Valentine's Day. Just. A. Romanticist. It wasn't as though she needed any love now. All memories of a high school...a high school _crush_ were pushed away, and she ran her knuckles one more time over Michelle's proclamation of friendship.

Red piping on white cardstock, and that was the only love she'd get today. She wasn't sure if that was such a bad thing.

---**East High, Summer  
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Her head bounced off the brick wall, but she didn't register the pain. He did, though, and almost asked, but Sharpay stopped any line of inquiry with a kiss, and so they continued, senses too agitated to stop now.

She was starting to regret the wall, cold and rough against her back (Her shoulder blades were probably worn away by now). But she wasn't really regretting it as slightly chapped lips brushed over her neck. Curly hair tickled the bottom of her chin. Stubble pricked her shoulder. She tried to stop her brain from wandering over to her shoes, the way they were scuffed on the bumpy floor. She'll have to salvage them later.

Everything was jagged here. Everything was wrong and out of place, but it didn't feel wrong (well, physically, she was aware of the wrongness, but for some reason, that didn't matter).

Something was whispered, something that Chad (or Sharpay) probably didn't mean, something that began with an 'L' and probably didn't end in 'ower,' (that came later).

The shadows were harsh, too harsh, and she felt like there was something (someone?) hiding behind them, hoping that no one would notice. Watching and waiting. Let them watch, she thought. It would educate them, build character, encourage procreation.

Hands danced over her stomach, and the last coherent thought scampered from her mind as fingers fluttered over her ribcage. Her eyes flickered closed, energy focused on something more important than seeing. In the instant before her self-imposed blindness, Sharpay caught, right before her eyes, burned on the insides of her eyelids like a solar flare, the vision of a discarded jersey, white with red piping, a number 8 emblazoned on the chest (it was folded over and she could only see half the—

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Chad stared unenthusiastically at the something-coffee clutched in his right hand. But his expression distorted slightly as flashes of skin on skin scratched at his brain.

He coughed off to the side.

_What_ had brought _that_ on all of a sudden? He shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable as if the entire world—or at least a majority of the Starbucks customers—had just received a sneak peak at his unexpected flashback. Chad sipped the coffee, cringed and quickly gulped down the sweetened substance before it registered a second time.

_Sharpay_. Another back-glance at high school?

Those rapid and frankly rude memories of his fling with Sharpay seemed obnoxiously spontaneous.

Chad stared at his bagel, half-eaten and cream cheese filled. His appetite lost to a series of unsettling flashbacks, Chad wondered if his hangover was truly so present as to induce unneeded memories. And now it was nearing eight-thirty, and Chad never expected to be on a _date_ this early.

A date. At eight in the morning.

With some girl he didn't know.

Well, he never knew any of his dates, but, this was different.

He hadn't meant to say yes to her, but…

It was a Sunday morning, and Chad wasn't sure what had happened. At seven thirty he was frazzle-dazzled from his four-hour sleep cycle by a grumbling stomach and an unhappy throbbing in his skull. With a vending machine located too conveniently down the hall, Chad had fumbled from his bed—or a jungle of black sheets—to the counter, locating his wallet and forcing crumpled dollar bills from it. Regretting his earlier decision to grocery shop _tonight_ rather than Saturday afternoon, Chad pulled on a UCLA t-shirt and staggered into the hallway, eyes half-open.

Maybe he was just a bit hung-over from the previous frat party last night, but it didn't matter now, because it was Sunday morning. Not entirely wasted but definitely tired, he had left the party at midnight to avoid an ex-girlfriend. Or multiple ex-girlfriends. Whatever. But at seven-thirty, Chad certainly didn't feel like the king of UCLA he believed he was.

The glass pane separated Chad from the month old candy bars and bags of chips the vending machine offered. Not at all enticed by the menu but definitely hungry, Chad narrowed his choices to the two largest items: cheese puffs and chocolate-covered pretzels.

"Don't tell me that's your breakfast?" a voice rang through halls, or maybe just through Chad's throbbing head.

A little startled, Chad threw a glance to the blonde girl from the apartment across from his. Leaning against the threshold of the door, the blonde girl stabbed an old memory deep within Chad's gut.

He stepped forward a bit. "Do I know you?" Chad grumbled at his own question. It was very clear he had no clue who the blonde girl was, but the churning feeling in his gut certainly wasn't hunger anymore. He studied the girl's face briefly, the nagging feeling pestering his brain, but he couldn't place any remote identity for the random girl. Slender, tanned, and blonde, she looked like every other Southern California female. Regardless, though, something wasn't right.

The girl smiled. "No, I don't think so. But I guess you're pretty hungry, huh?"

Chad squinted a bit before turning from her. "Yeah, I'm starving." He pressed the coordinates for the appropriate snack, but felt an arm on his. He looked over to the blonde girl.

She smiled again.

And now Chad was at Starbucks, indulging a sweetened coffee experience he found slightly disgusting. The girl was apparently titled Rachel, she loved hot chocolate and Orlando Bloom, and her insane major consisted of bio-technology and a lot of coffee.

Rachel grinned. "Oh, I'm also into theater."

_Theater_.

Chad sat forward instantly.

Theater. That was it.

Rachel looked like Sharpay.

Chad almost felt guilty. He had said yes to Rachel's food offer because she looked shockingly similar to Sharpay Evans; he knew that was the only reason—well, maybe for the food, too—that he had even remotely considered Rachel.

Chad unfortunately surrendered most of his focus as his mind was assaulted with unnecessary and adult-friendly memories of Sharpay.

He could hardly grant any attention to Rachel for the remainder of the breakfast date.

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_End Chapter 2_

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_­_**A/N: TehFuzzyPenguin:** Jen hates OCs, and so do I, to an extent, but I do love my foils. Michelle's a favorite of mine I pulled out in _One Thousand Words_ for a little while. As for the flashback, I have no idea which summer it is (I wrote that one), so...yeah. I'll come up with it soon. Sorry for the long time between updates! We're both not at home, so it's a bit hectic.

**Star Vitamin: **Ew, yes, Rachel serves as Chad's significant other, but don't freak, it's not like she's that amazingly terrible. I got stuck with creating a female character, and I HATE female OCs, so that made the job infinitely worse. If you read my _Chad, Sharpay, and the Little Rem_ fic, you'll know I take a while with OCs. Damn them.

THANK YOU for your reviews, each one of you. It really made our day. We really appreciate them. :)


	3. Pink Thongs and Good, Clean Fun

(Chapter 3)

(Pink Thongs and Good, Clean Fun)

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His books were sprawled beneath the tree outside the library.

Chad pseudo-smiled as Rachel handed him the cup of coffee, kissing her on the lips before taking the hot beverage from her fingers. Four months into their relationship, and he didn't have the heart to tell her he hated coffee—in any form.

Midterms had temporarily taken hold of Chad's social life, making it a definite lack-of-social-life. Determined to pass his classes for his senior year, Chad had devoted a majority of his spare time nurturing his failing grades. Tired, confused, and definitely bored, the basketball jock counted the days to graduation and fame.

"Look, you're in the newspaper again," Rachel commented, pushing up her glasses while scanning the sports section.

"Because I'm amazing."

Rachel smiled but didn't disagree, turning to the entertainment section after the article had been visually worn out.

"Oh, that's cute. They're having an Easter scavenger hunt this weekend," Rachel murmured, and she was once again lost in the great happenings of the UCLA school newspaper.

Chad laughed beneath his breath, sitting back against the tree and closing his eyes.

--- **East High Junior Year, Fall**

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He eyed the dented envelope wearily before handing it to the post clerk.

"What the hell happened to it?" the unenthusiastic brunette asked, taking the yellow envelope by a pinch of the upper left corner.

The post office, flooded with arms and legs and _kids_, was closing in a grand five minutes. Apparently the entire city, believing procrastination wasn't just Chad's thoroughly practiced ideal, had uncomfortably crammed their way into the tiny post office, bringing their entire families and lots of mini-vans with them.

"Does it matter?" Chad mumbled, shoving a five dollar bill somewhere on the surface of the counter.

He left the post office in poor, irritated spirits, feeling sticky and violated—there were a lot of lonely soccer moms there—but his energetic attitude was soon resurrected.

It was Georgina Lincoln's 17th birthday, and instead of throwing the expected smash-out party Chad had planned for, the cheerleader had compiled a list of random items in need of collecting by nine that evening.

Perdón? A scavenger hunt.

Separated into mass groups, the scavenger hunt supposedly birthed in central Albuquerque and retired at a far away lake house…where the real party'd begin.

And Chad's goal consisted of spending too much quality time with Georgiana, so naturally he'd have to win the hunt by a large lead.

Glancing to the neatly numbered row of items, the next thing on the scavenger list was…

A pink, lacy thong.

Purchased from Victoria's Secret.

Chad silently groaned, staring at the list with newly revealed disdain. Not entirely thrilled by the idea of forfeiting his masculinity for a birthday party, Chad flipped his cell phone open, dialing the leader of his group: Troy.

"…Hey, man," Chad began quickly, "you saw the list—oh, c'mon—I'M not doing it, you're the lead—So _what_—no, you found _Love Actually_ in your mom's cabinet, that doesn't count—TROY—"

Chad listened to the silence coming from his cell, rolling his eyes as Troy bluntly hung up on him. Without a glance to the cell screen, he smoothly returned the phone to his pocket in exchange for jangling car keys.

Where the hell was Victoria's Secret?

Chad started his car, pulling from the parking lot with an uncertain mind frame. If his too-many-girlfriends had taught him anything, it was the location of every popular retail store in Albuquerque; he assumed Victoria's secret was in the mall, just like he had assumed Pomegranates-on-a-Stick and The Dictionary Store had been. The Central Albuquerque mall, the virtual god of retail pits, would condone his shopping expedition as nothing more than an obstacle to a much needed prize.

The mall wasn't much better than the post office. Crowded with hundreds of children and just as sticky, the mall was an unpaid daycare center. Chad somehow sifted through the teens and kids without yanking his hair out from his skull, casting awkward glances to every pair of eyes he found.

Victoria's Secret was virtually empty, which basically drew all glances to Chad when he entered.

"May I help you?" a perfectly happy sales lady asked, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"Uh…no, thanks," Chad said with a weird nod, sidestepping the employee and walking over to a random table lined with undergarments.

Most of the employees were grinning widely, Chad an evening-time show for the bored crew. Chad shrugged off the stares, his hands in his pockets as he pensively began sorting through the panties and lace-things, looking for a flash of pink.

Admittedly, his search held no gusto, his enthusiasm stuffed in the sports shop next door. As he turned away from the table, he spotted a blonde drama queen off to the rear of the store, holding up pink panties.

Chad grinned, quietly moving to the back of Victoria's Secret.

"And I was _sure_ you wore black thongs," Chad said over Sharpay's shoulder, close to her ear, his breath on her neck.

Chad's amusement was in for a treat as Sharpay turned to him with an irritated face. "No, that's what you wear, I'm sure."

"Sorry, I'm more of boxers' gent."

"Hard to believe, considering the store you're in, Danforth."

Chad grinned again, shrugging his shoulders with a light air. "Scavenger hunt."

"Ew."

"I need a pink lacy thong—Can I have the one you're wearing?"

"Are you sure I'm wearing one?"

"Let me find out, and then I'll be sure."

Both held strong smirks.

Months later Chad would discover Sharpay had many pink thongs.

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23-year-old Sharpay stood next to 28-year-old Sarah Chapman, a good friend, a horrible mentor, and the star of the current musicale that was making its paces through its production stages. Sharpay was ensemble/Peasant 1. They both wore bewildered expressions on their faces. "Oh, do we get a July the 4th scavenger hunt, too?" Sharpay asked.

"Now, Sharpay," Sarah said. "I'm sure she means well."

"You're not ensemble." Sharpay jabbed a finger at the paper posted on the dressing room door. "You don't have to go to an ensemble cast party to get to know each other."

"I thought you liked cast parties."

"_After_ we already know each other. Then we can weed out that one crazy one who insists that we paint each other's nails and pretends we're still in middle school."

"Will there be alcohol?" Sarah asked.

Sharpay inspected the printout. "No. Says here, 'good, clean fun.'" She groaned. "I think we've found that one crazy one."

"How did I find you in the middle of all those _nice_ people who auditioned?"

"Because I'm fabulous."

"Must be," Sarah said. "Can't have been because you understudied Michelle in _The Pirate Queen_ last year."

"We were roommates. She was a very good Queen Elizabeth," Sharpay smirked. "You were a very good Grania."

"Are you trying to be modest?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"We all know that I'm older, more famous, and more talented." Sharpay scoffed. "It's true," Sarah said. "So by excluding yourself from praise, you're making me say 'Oh no, you were wonderful!' which is exactly what you wanted to hear."

Sharpay feigned insult. "That's ridiculous." She looked at the paper again and sighed. "I know we're all about unity and stuff, but a drunken party with people I can't stand just doesn't appeal to me like I think it should."

"You said there wouldn't be any drinking," Sarah pointed out.

"I'm working my way up to that. The first part was shocking enough as it was."

"Take your time." Sharpay took a deep breath.

"Okay. One person I can't stand. Bad music. Even worse dancing. Appalling clothes. _Sobriety_. And Truth or Dare, probably," she said after a few seconds of gathering her thoughts.

"I thought you liked Truth or Dare, too."

"Not with _them_. I'm only comfortable with displaying my pink thong under two conditions: that I am drunk off my ass, and that everyone else is drunk off their asses."

"...Are you wearing a pink thong?"

Sharpay sneered for a moment. She started saying, "The last time someone asked me that question..."

Sarah waited a while, and then prompted, "Go on."

Sharpay shook her head quickly, as though clearing her head from sticky threads of unwanted thoughts. "It doesn't matter. I basically invented the pink thong."

"I think you'll have fun," Sarah said suddenly. Sharpay stared.

"Rumors of my cocaine addiction have been greatly exaggerated."

"No, I'm serious. I think you can legitimately have a sober good time...with...complete, utter...what am I talking about, you're going to be bored out of your mind."

"Someone sees the light."

"Look, maybe they won't play Truth or Dare. Maybe they'll play..." Sarah fished around.

"Twister?" Sharpay offered. "Oh, I could die from excitement."

"Look. Tomorrow, then, if you're still alive after tonight's alcohol-less Spanish Inquisition, I'll take you out with the rest of the company, and we can throw a real cast party. On the real July the 4th."

Sharpay looked only slightly hopeful. "Will there be a scavenger hunt?"

Sarah scowled. "No." 

"God save the king."

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**A/N: **Okay, my fault for forgetting to get Robin's AN, I'm sorry!

I thought the Victoria's Secret scene was an entertaining one, and Sharpay's disdain for staff parties is hilarious.

Thank you again for your reviews!!


	4. Wine and Beer, and the Home Depot

(A Lifetime of Mean Reds)

(Chapter 4)

(Wine and Beer, and the Home Depot)

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Logan poked his head into the living room. "So I've got cheese, crackers, grapes, pizza half without sauce, half mushroom, quarter sausage, half Hawaiian—"

"And peanut butter!" Sarah yelled.

"—And peanut butter. Is that it here?"

Sharpay grinned and yelled, "Wine and beer!"

She retained her smirk as Logan rolled his eyes. "Yes, Maureen," he said. Sharpay leaned back on the couch and laughed.

"I was a Renthead in high school," she explained. "God, those were the days. Right, Kelsi?"

Out of sheer luck, Sharpay had stumbled on a script of Kelsi's a year ago, and pestered Sarah to get it made. Sarah made herself the director and Sharpay the lead; Kelsi was in no position to disagree with anything either of them said. She simply nodded.

Ryan said from his position next to Kelsi, "Speaking of which, Shar, remember Rachel?"

"I have known many Rachels in my long and memorable 24-year life. Kindly elaborate." Sarah snorted. "Hey, on-the-brink-of-fame stars can be egotistical too," Sharpay warned.

"The Rachel from Interlochen? We all wondered how she got in?"

"Oh _god_ yes. What about her?"

Ryan smirked. "Marshall was in L.A. He said he saw her on the UCLA campus in a biology lab or something."

Sarah asked, "Is this physical trainer boyfriend Marshall?"

"Yes," Sharpay said.

"The one that—"

"_Yes_. Ryan, how does Marshall know Rachel?"

"He just told me about this girl who looked freakishly like you. I thought I'd take a wild guess."

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Everyone wants to be me."

Logan called out from the kitchen, "Shar, I only have bourbon."

"Gimme a bottle of bourbon and half a chicken and I'll conquer the world," she shot back. Logan reappeared with said bottle on top of the food and a stack of Dixie cups.

Sharpay turned to Ryan, also Logan's roommate. "Oh, plastic shot glasses, you shouldn't have."

Ryan said, "Sometimes, the gay can only do so much."

Logan distributed the cups and set the pizza box in the center of the table. "Eat, drink, conquer the world."

It wasn't until after dinner and half the bottle that they decided to regress to the seventh grade and play a game of Truth or Dare, which quickly turned into just Truth because no one trusted Sharpay to keep quiet about the dares. (Or truths, but they threw dares out because she could also be _inventive_.)

"Okay, moment of truth, Sharpay," said Sarah. Sharpay smiled and swallowed her bourbon.

"I love cast parties," Sharpay deadpanned, waiting for Sarah's question.

"What's the biggest thing you wished you'd done in high school, but never got to do?"

She toyed with a few ideas before answering, eyes dancing over the cheap plastic Dixie cups that held too-potent liquor. The attentions of several happily tipsy people were fixated on their illustriously regretless costar. Cheap...plastic...Dixie cups. Her mind wandered down that path, and her lips curved at where _this _particular road wound up. Well, she couldn't deny them.

"I almost took her to Prom with me one year. As my date, cos one senior had left over tickets," Sharpay proclaimed, pointing at the mortified Kelsi Nielsen with her cup.

"Sharpay—" the writer protested.

"Don't worry, Kelsi, everyone in Broadway is at least a little bi." She paused to look at Ryan, sitting across from her. "Well, some of us are flaming." Sharpay poured herself another generous shot and refilled the four other empty cups.

"Anyway," she continued, "I almost took mini-Bernstein as my date to Prom because it would be horribly fucked up to take my brother to Prom." She smiled. "No offense, Ryan."

"None taken."

"Plus," Logan was tempted to chime in, "the shock value." Only two weeks with Sarah's new star, and he already knew everything about her.

Sharpay's teeth glinted in the light. "Of course." She tossed back more bourbon.

"So what happened to the Shock Factor that our Sharpay would never pass up?" Her fingers played with the cup.

"Something else came up. Kelsi bailed. I went." She snagged Sarah's liquor and quickly downed it, too. "It was still...well, fun was what it aspired to be."

Sharpay grimaced. She leveled a finger at Kelsi, in an attempt to deflect attention. "Your moment of truth time. Who did Darbus, our wonderful drama teacher, almost catch you with in the props room?"

"Sharpay!"

"Good answer. Your turn," Sharpay quipped, frowning at her sudden memory of what did happen at prom. (the real answer was Jason, but she didn't correct herself.)

"Logan, moment of truth," Kelsi said, when she realized that fighting would be ridiculous. "What is it with you and STD's?"

Logan began a five-minute tirade on how STD's were just as common as _E. coli _in the human body, and after he mentioned "hepatitis" for the fifth time, Sharpay forced herself not to break the bourbon bottle and bash his face in.

It would be a waste of good alcohol. She tilted the liquid in her cheap plastic Dixie cup, inspected it from side to side. When the day came that she didn't want to listen to half-forgotten conversations with a stubbornly unforgotten partner anymore, then she'll waste the liquor.

---**Sophomore Year Prom  
**

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The catering company used cheap plastic Dixie cups. It served fruit cocktails, alcohol-free daiquiris, Coke and Sprite, in cheap plastic Dixie cups. No ice. She finished sipping her water and began taking apart the drinking vessel.

"Is it true?" He asked. She carefully pushed in the rim of the cup, making sure to crease the lip in half, barely able to see in the dimly lit room.

"Is what true?"

"Were you really going to take Kelsi?" Sharpay looked over at Chad. She didn't bother to ask what happened to his date.

"If I was, do you think I'd be here now?" Now her fingers went to work on the rest of the plastic, carefully tearing at the seams. "I'm here, you're still alive, and the cheap cardboard decorations are still standing. Anything else is none of your business."

"Okay." Her fingertips felt wetness, drops of water suspended on pale skin, and she carefully finished dismembering the cheap plastic Dixie cup.

"Besides," she said, letting the halves drop to the card table, taking his wrist, passing off the cool moisture onto his skin. "I think I like you a little bit."

"Do you really." It wasn't a question. She dropped his hand and eyed the floor of gyrating teenagers. At least five people would get their stomachs pumped tonight, and she almost cried at the idea of staying here any longer.

"I made an appearance for your sake, Danforth. Don't make me regret it any more than I already am."

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Independence independently sucked.

Chad crossed his arms and stared at the leaking roof, watching the water fall and continuously damage a single spot in the white carpet. He could hear the rain outside, the heavy plummet of a thousand thuds, but he knew it would eventually end by the next morning. Despite being virtually broke, Chad could feel his basketball talents paying off—he had a meeting with his manager in two weeks for a possible team transfer; Chad would finally earn the fame he had always craved.

But the problem of a leaking room and a possibly destroyed carpet were his worries as of now; he couldn't afford a new roof or a new carpet…or that sandwich with the tomatoes he had wanted earlier. The cracks had spread across the roof; he could feel water lightly tapping his head, and he turned around and saw three more possible leakages had sprung.

He lazily yanked out his cell phone from his pant pocket and flipped it open. Home Depot was not Chad's friend; apparently neither was Lows or Osh, but Troy definitely happened to be. With a quick dial, he heard the pacing ring…

"Hey, man, what's up?" Troy answered, and Chad could tell he was eating something.

"Hey, my roof's kinda breaking—"

"Heh, did Rachel get pissed at you again?"

Chad rolled his eyes. "_No,_ and I'm pretty sure you're not helping my situation—Oh, she wants you over for dinner again next week—"

"Yeah, tell her Miss Anderson she can go fu—" Troy started, but Chad quickly interrupted.

"—Cut it out, Troy, anyway, do you know how to fix leaking roofs?" Chad asked quickly, glancing at the room again as the leak ran down the side of the wall.

If anything was remotely common knowledge, it was Rachel and Troy's crappy pseudo-friendship. Rachel, the slightly annoying and overly skinny girlfriend, and Troy rubbed raw shoulders too often, their awkward and forced conversations making entire situations extremely uncomfortable. Troy had learned his lesson the first seven times after dining with Chad and Rachel, and had since kept his distance from anything that started with an R. The slightly ignorant Rachel, with her absolute most shining efforts, was working overtime trying to mend their relationship via crappy dinners and forced outings.

Needless to say it wasn't working.

"No, that's Gabriella's field," Troy commented absentmindedly before both boys burst into uncontrollable laughter.

"Damn, I guess I'm just gonna have to stick to pots and pans…"

"It's late; I'll try to stop by tomorrow and see what I can do," Troy explained quickly, stuffing another piece of food into his mouth.

"Fine…" Chad mumbled, shutting his cell phone with quick clasp.

His next area of business was finding available cooking ware, but Chad had very few pots that were unoccupied. With a defeated shrug and sigh, he scrambled through his pantry, looking for anything bowl-shaped.

After ten minutes of regretting his messy life style, the only salvageable items Chad found were old Dixie cups he had bought a month ago as an excuse not to do dishes. Well, he never used them, and he still had to do dishes.

The rain was throwing a tantrum outside, obnoxiously splashing water against his poor little apartment. Chad cast an irritated glance to the unfortunate weather before tearing open the package of Dixie cups and pulling out a few.

The pattern of the Dixie cup was incredibly old, and even the luminescent white looked faded and yellow. As Chad slipped the cups around the house, he wondered the true age of the plastic Dixie cups.

He raised an eyebrow. They had to be over a year old.

He had truly reached the epitome of cheapness—using year old paper cups as a barrier for his decade old carpet. He smiled slightly, drawing his thumb across the label. He couldn't be entirely cheap—his own prom, a headache of lights and dancing, had actually given them Dixie cups, too.

Chad sat on the carpet, placing another plastic cup beneath another part of the leaking roof.

Sharpay and prom mixed wonderfully. Dixie cups aside, that particular prom was a surprisingly sober night of Sharpay Evans and little more than that.

Chad stared at the Dixie up before throwing his glance to a white wall.

High school seemed so long ago.

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_End Chapter 4_

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**A/N: TehFuzzyPenguin: **As far as my part goes, I have about five thousand OC's, and all of them are important. It's a bit silly. In almost every single stage of Sharpay's life, she's in some part of a production. Which is wildly unrealistic, but...y'know. Me and my musical obsession. (RENT!) If anyone can tell me where "Give me a bottle of bourbon and half a chicken and I'll conquer the world" comes from, I'll give cookies.  
**A/N: StarVitamin: **My part of the chapter is eye-twitchingly bad. Too many adjectives. I have such a problem with that. Anyway, I hope everyone's really enjoying the story so far. Ooh, and this is turning out to be pretty long. Plenty of awesome Chadpay moments coming up soon! Thanks for reading!

Thanks for the reviews; we love them all! XD


	5. Checkerboards and Christmas Cards

(Chapter 5)

(Checkerboards and Christmas Cards)

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It was Christmas time, and thusly they were required to face the crowds of busy malls and plazas.

Chad celebrated Christmas for the materialistic values, and Rachel, atheistic in nature, celebrated out of boredom and pressure. Crushed together by the relentless crowds, the pair escaped into an older looking store as an excuse for air and rest. Chad, his fingers still laced with Rachel's, viewed the shop with a bit of disdain—it looked junky and slightly suspicious, but it wasn't as if bearing the crowds was any better.

The shop, clean but dusty looking, held a lot of antique somethings and weird glass structures Chad wasn't sure he could name. But oddly enough, the store felt familiar in a way, harassing a nostalgic feeling from somewhere in his chest.

"This place is cool…" Rachel said, brushing her blonde hair from her eyes.

Chad said nothing, looking around for anything interesting that money could—or would want to—afford. More paintings, books, chairs…

Without warning, a display in a glass case caught his eye, and he pulled Rachel over to stare at it. The display was nothing to have a heart attack over—a chess set sat firmly in place, the golden pieces vibrant but obviously primeval.

"Whoa, Chad, chess, staring? Does this make sense?" Rachel teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

Chad leaned in closer, staring through the glass at the chess set with wide eyes. That couldn't possibly…He stepped forward, squinting his eyes as he looked for the…

Suddenly he smacked his forehead against the glass pane, jerking back with surprise.

Rachel was laughing as she put a hand to Chad's forehead. "I didn't know you liked chess."

"Well, I don't," Chad mumbled, looking back to the glass case with nagging irritation.

Rachel eventually left his side for a clothing rack of 1920s clothing, but Chad for some reason couldn't tear his eyes from the chess set. With frustration, he tried to see the far side of the board, but the position of the glass case made it nearly impossible.

"Like chess, do you?" an old man asked, and Chad looked to him without much interest.

"I used to," he said, stepping away from the display to prove his point.

The store keeper smiled. "I got that set about a year ago," he explained, taking out a set of keys. "It's an antique from the forties."

Chad nodded, staring skeptically at the game board as the store keeper unlocked the case door.

"Who'd you get that from?" Chad asked, and he couldn't entirely understand where the pesky curiosity had come from.

The store keeper chuckled. "An older lady…" he began, taking the flat pedestal from the case and placing it out in the open. "The wench used it for her classroom! I nearly met the reaper when I saw the poor condition it was in!"

Chad gave it an apprehensive but interested look to the old man before finally looking to the back of the chess board.

Written in tiny cursive were the letters 'SE'.

Sharpay Evans.

Chad looked to the old man with amazement, and before he had a chance to stop himself he quickly said, "I'll buy it."

**-- Junior Year**

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He chose her because everyone else was stupid.

Sharpay moved to Chad as he moved to her, because the entire class reeked of wannabe peps and athletic disgraces neither wanted to associate with. The majority of the economics' class seemed eager for Chad's attention; the rest kept staring at Sharpay's legs. Drooling and winking and convulsing, this was East High, and Chad was unofficial royalty. Students flocked to him because he was a more approachable Troy; he was taller and spontaneously single, the ingredients for a Cosmo special. Naturally Chad wanted little to do with them. For once in his life, Sharpay Evans was an open treat.

They sat on desks with a chess board between them. The pathetic excuse for a teacher had assigned them a busy-work project concerning a chess game that somehow related to government. Chad couldn't find the connection but chose Sharpay as his partner nevertheless.

The lights were dimmed low as he and Sharpay played the game, the pieces scraping against the antique board.

He loved watching Sharpay's hands as she moved the kings, because her fingers were long like a trailing sentence.

He would smirk at her; she would smirk back, and they acknowledged their very extinct greatness. He watched her confidence; he watched the way her smirk turned to an unusual smile. He saw they were the same, and for this, he couldn't hate her anymore.

They played chess once a week for the entire semester and managed a C grade for it.

On the final day, Sharpay took her black pen and wrote on her side of the chess board…

SE.

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Sharpay wrote Christmas cards. Well, she lived in New York, so she actually wrote nondenominational holiday cards. She enlisted her boyfriend, Eric, to stick stamps on the envelopes.

It was strange that while Sharpay did not believe in Valentine's Day, did not recognize Easter as a legitimate reason to wear ugly dresses and eat sheep, and did not find Thanksgiving a good excuse to convene with too much family, she whole-heartedly endorsed the holiday of Christmas.

She didn't go white-trash overboard decorating her apartment (that was for the dressing rooms) or play Bing Crosby on repeat. She just made an effort not to disparage any sign of festivity, which, for her, was the equivalent of a Macy's Day Parade.

Sharpay finished her last card (a confessional to Ryan about too many things that should not have bothered her throughout the year, but did) and stuffed it in an envelope, gathering the rest of the completed cards up to take them to the post office. Eric quickly took them and riffled through.

"One to your parents, Ryan, Sarah, Michelle, Logan, my parents, Marshall...why are you sending one to Marshall? Doesn't he live with Ryan now?" Sharpay looked over his shoulder.

"I have private things to tell my twin brother."

Eric shrugged and helped her with her coat.

"What are we getting Michelle?" He asked.

"I don't know. Something sparkly. BeDazzled, even, but I'm not going to go through that much work."

"I had her one year for Secret Santa. It was a cast thing."

"I think I have that god-awful sweater that she white-elephanted onto me last year." Eric mimed horror. "Aren't you glad that I'm your girlfriend? You can put your name on the 'from' tag of anything I pick out."

Eric took her hand and they walked down to the post office. They had met at one of Sarah's vast St. Patrick's Day parties the year that Sharpay understudied Michelle. He'd done a play with Sarah a while before, and now wrote at Saturday Night Live, featured sometimes on air a la Tina Fey. They got along well, and for Sharpay, that was an almost sure sign of a wedding.

Sharpay dragged him into a vintage-y shop on the way back home, convinced that there was something sparkly inside that Michelle would like. It smelled like musty pages and wood polish.

She searched through the old trinkets and dresses, and when she'd ascertained that not only did some women in the 20's have bad fashion sense (and nothing sparkly), they were also _fat_, she went in search of Eric.

She found him in an old rocking chair towards the back, inspecting a rustic-looking chess board on a chipped table, his long hair hanging in loose waves around his face. She wondered, for a second, if his hair had ever been curly, but didn't ask. Instead, Sharpay reached down and twirled her fingers around a pawn, moving it two squares up. The piece echoed loudly on the board.

"You play chess?" he asked, surprised.

"A long time ago, and not very well," she answered, but the fake modesty in her voice gave it away. "My opponent wasn't very good."

He smiled and then moved a pawn of his own. "I'm not very good, either."

"We'll see."

They played in silence, interrupted only by breathing and the clink of ivory on wood. On Eric's turns, Sharpay found herself inspecting his hands. Rounded nails, long fingers, square palm. They trailed from piece to piece like tinsel on a Christmas tree (which she had set up in the apartment, plastic, because any live plant around her quickly ceased to be so.) The movement looked familiar.

"Checkmate," he announced, and she looked up from his hands to see that his knight had trumped her king. With a sudden rush of annoyance, she realized that she'd moved her pieces like she was playing against Chad, and not Eric. This was a problem.

"Nice," Sharpay conceded. She reset the board, fingers lingering over her king. He watched.

Eric said, almost murmured, "I love you." Sharpay's hand dropped from the table, and for an instant, it looked like she was frowning at Eric, her eyes on him, but not seeing him.

It passed.

"I love you, too," she said, and seemed to glare at the board right after she said it. "Come on." Sharpay stood up, and held her hand out to Eric. "Let's go home."


	6. Audrey Hepburn and Carbonated Beverages

(Chapter 6)

(It's Audrey Hepburn, Who Smells Like Pepsi)

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"How is it," Sarah said carefully, "that the last two productions you've been in have closed in two months each...and yet you're getting more coverage in tabloids than ever?"

Sharpay reached across the table. "Let me see that."

"Nope. Last month it was Orlando Bloom, despite the fact that you have never met Orlando Bloom. Last week, it was Elijah Wood, who you have met, but you haven't seen him any time recently, I think. And now you've been spotted walking your dog with Heath Ledger. I didn't know he was in town." Sarah peered around the paper at Ella Fitzgerald, Sharpay's cat. "I didn't know Ella was a dog, either."

"I'm _coping_," Sharpay offered as explanation. "And none of those things actually happened."

"But there's a reason that they got written. _Coping_ and _whoring yourself out as a red carpet date_ are not the same thing."

"Eric left me!" she wailed dramatically. Sarah dropped _The National Enquirer_ and flipped through another tabloid, stopping at a page displaying Sharpay and Justin Chambers talking animatedly with each other at a premiere.

"You look so distraught!"

"Oh relax, nothing actually happened."

"Sharpay." Sarah sighed. "It's August. You two broke up in _March_. I am sick of coming here once a week to make sure you have enough condoms. Starting now, you are no longer allowed to cope."

"Sarah, you're not my mother."

Sarah just dug in her bag until she came up with a novel-length stack of paper. "Here."

"What's this?"

"These are scripts, librettos, some songs, plot points written on Starbucks napkins."

"Ew."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm directing one. I want you read them, I want you to train, I want you to star, and I want you to be famous. By yourself, and preferably without syphilis. Make some tea and start, because I'm not leaving until you finish."

"I think this counts as abuse, Sarah." Sarah got up and started boiling some water.

"Read."

It wasn't that Sharpay was slacking off. It wasn't that she was getting jaded (having two shows close in months was not jading at all, in fact.) She was just caught up in Eric, and then they'd fallen apart because he was needy and she wasn't. So he said he wasn't waiting, and she said then he should just go, and he did. She hadn't expected him to actually go.

So Sharpay Evans had turned to her acting, which didn't pay off (because really, musicals _were_ the hardest things to put together) and socializing with the latest Hollywood boys to try their hands at stage (which was slightly more successful.)

And now she was being held prisoner in her own apartment by her best friend.

Sarah set a cup of Earl Grey on the kitchen table in front of her, sat back down at the table and glared.

Sharpay supposed it was for her own good, so she conceded to a little bit of light reading, if only to keep Sarah off her back.

"This first title is ridiculous. 'Strangers on a Bus'? Someone hacked Hitchcock."

"Tunes are catchy," Sarah said.

"Title's not. Next." Sharpay raised the cup to her lips, sipped, and promptly spewed it out over the words "_Gatwick_."

"What's wrong?"

"This tea is abominable. It tastes like Ella's litter box." Sharpay looked up at Sarah and grimaced. "How could you ruin a cup of tea?"

"I don't—"

"You boil the water and stick in the teabag. It's idiotproof!" She looked back to the splotchy page. "And now the front of this looks like Jackson Pollock had a seizure on it."

"Which one?"

"_Gatwick_." Sharpay moved the paper to read the synopsis. "'Two old friends meet at the Gatwick Airport and realize that their lives haven't turned out at all like they'd planned.' This sounds atrocious, Sarah, what are you trying to do to my brain?"

"Just read the damn things."

An hour and fifty pages later, Sharpay had picked out two salvageable ones, and was ready to give up on the rest. "Okay, Sarah, get ready to be amazed. _Canadia _and _Tiffany's_."

"I've shown you _Canadia_ before."

"Well, then, just _Tiffany's_, if you're going to be moodified about it. I only picked _Canadia_ because you've shown it to me before." Sharpay stretched her neck and stood up, dumping out her cold tea into the sink. "Besides, people're already familiar with Tiffany's."

"The movie?" Sarah asked.

"This isn't based on the movie. I'm talking about the song." Sharpay started to sing. "And I said What about _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, she said I think I remember that film and as I recall, I think we both kinda liked it and I said Well that's the one thing we've..." she trailed off.

Sarah looked at her blankly. "Never heard of it."

"That's because you grew up in a cave," Sharpay snapped, but it lacked her usual bite. She gnawed the inside of her lip, a tangy-coppery taste welling on the edge of her tongue. "Actually," she said after a second, "Let's not do _Tiffany's_."

"Why not?"

Sharpay ran the faucet, washing away the remnants of bad tea and tired memories. "I just like _Canadia _better."

"But—"

"I'm fabulous, I say so," Sharpay said, and Sarah didn't ask.

**Senior Year**

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He refused to watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, at first. It was for a Modern Culture assignment, and they picked each other because no one else really appealed. The assignment was to show how major pop culture icons were prevalent in current pop cultural scenes. Everyone else picked _Scary Movie_.

Sharpay picked the song by Deep Blue Something.

Chad didn't know that watching Audrey Hepburn was part of the deal.

"You cretin," she said, when he revealed to her that he'd never seen the film. "You probably thought Tiffany's was a restaurant."

So a viewing was in order. After two weeks of demanding, Sharpay finally lured Chad into watching the movie, which, when it was over, managed to draw the words, "Oh how touching," in a monotone out of him. She scowled and made him watch it again.

"I'm fabulous, I say so," she explained. She knew every line to it, and by the end of the whole thing, so did he.

He even presented her with a cat mask one day from a Dollar Tree. He was already wearing the dog mask. She grudgingly wore it for a few minutes, because at least he was trying. They got an A on the project.

Towards the end of the semester, Sharpay realized that the song was more than just a horrible one-hit wonder that had nothing to do with the sacred film it referenced.

It was starting to resemble this _thing_ with Chad.

So she stopped listening to it.

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Chad switched the radio station with a loose hand—"Breakfast at Tiffany's"foreshadowed a large headache Chad would need Tylenol for, and he didn't like any sort of sickness, so the radio station _had_ to be changed.

"Hey, that's not a bad song," Rachel said quickly, giving him a pouty glance.

They were driving on the 126, headed to LA for a conference meeting neither Chad nor Rachel really wanted to attend.

Bored and unenthusiastic, the road trip consisted of two thousand magazines and too many bags of chips.

Salty chips.

And the magazines focused on _cooking_ and fourteen different ways to make your curtains smell like Pepsi.

Rachel was staring at her engagement ring—the big rock of a diamond Chad shoved on her hand while crouching on one knee—which clearly explained the two would be married in a matter of months, or when ever they felt like it.

Chad's stomach churned awkwardly as he watched Rachel examine the ring. She looked too much like Sharpay, sitting in the passenger seat, talking about _Breakfast at Tiffany's _without understanding it was a movie before it was a song.

Educate her, then.

Chad, with his eyes set sturdy on the view behind the pane of glass, said, "You know it's a movie, right?"

Rachel, who had dug into her bag for something, looked up at him. "What is? Oh, _Breakfast at Tiffany's_? I thought it was just a song."

"Song's a title from the movie." Chad could feel Sharpay's smirk from miles away.

"Wow, you're a cinema freak, and you never told me? Holy crap, break out _Casablanca _and some old Chaplin films," Rachel laughed, retuning to the adventure that was her purse.

The sun was starting to set, but the sky looked distorted and ugly.

Sharpay was synonymous with high school; eight years buried and she was still a freshly painted portrait in an avenue of Chad's mind, because Sharpay was easy to hate but hard to forget. The guilt was always creeping somewhere in his chest, in his head, in his eyes—Rachel was Sharpay without the personality, Sharpay's discarded skin…

He'd smile at Rachel and look away when Sharpay'd smile back. When she'd undress, when she'd laugh, when she'd scowled—she was suddenly a hollow mask of someone called Sharpay.

Chad shook his head. Maybe not the scowl. Sharpay had a distinct scowl Chad was sure he'd never find again.

But regardless, he was marrying Rachel because she was Sharpay, and no matter what, someone's heart would be broken.

Chad turned on the heater, Rachel fell asleep, and there wasn't much left but a slightly disenchanted Chad and a very long road ahead.

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_End Chapter 5_

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**A/N**: **TehFuzzyPenguin:** Okay, we're sorry for not noting the last chapter, but hey, I'm out of GSW and StarVitamin finally finished the last Harry Pottter. As for my part, I realize that Eric got written out too quickly, but remember, Sharpay is becoming kind of a big deal. It's several months later, which makes both of them...around 26, 27? I'll have to check my notes. And of course, Sarah's here, because she's...um, a mentor? Yep. I'll shut up now. Oh, except, if you've seen _Breakfast At Tiffany's_, you probably know what the story title means right about now.

Sorry for the delays! It's been a hectic time here, almost at the end of summer, and we swear, once there's a set schedule, there will be regular updates. We love the reviews. They really encourage us.


	7. BeDazzled Phones and Interviews

_chapter__ 7_

_(BeDazzled Phones and Interviews)  
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"We're going to need you to smile for this one, Mr. Danforth," a handsome young Indian photographer explained.

Chad, who was by no means remotely happy, threw back his shoulders, tilted his head forward and gave his best grin.

"Fine, fine, beautiful, Mr. Danforth!" the photographer cooed, snapping a few more shots before checking his film intake.

It was seven in the morning.

Donuts and Starbucks were organized neatly on a long table alongside a lot of water bottles and apparently really awesome breath mints. A staff of ten people was anxiously tottering around because photographers, assistants, and coffee-makers rarely sat down. A low buzz of Akon music was somewhere in the distance, and the large windows of the studio were letting in a great deal of light.

Chad had a headache and found that his own pretenses were dropping with every passing moment. He wished he could find Troy, because he missed his best friend, he didn't understand _why_ his marriage had to be publicized in _People _magazine at all, and why in the world were these photographers treating him like he was the god in the their God complex?

He could hear coughing off to the side, sniffling, and a great deal of sneezing. VIP treatment was incredible, but after a few weeks of people groveling at his feet, he was feeling tired and homesick.

Chad was up to his neck in press management: his schedule told him today was _People_ magazine's turn to deal with the soon-to-be-married Chad Danforth, but he never read _People_ magazine and frankly didn't care.

The photographer, Mark, looked up from his camera, motioning off to the sidelines. "Okay, Rachel, we're gonna need you to look up at Chad longingly, you know, like you're the luckiest girl in the entire world—you're marrying Chad Danforth!"

Rachel was the partner in the photo shoot, because Chad couldn't be without his engaged girlfriend for a marriage promo. Rachel, unaccustomed to the ridiculous amount of cosmetic and fashion preparation a photo shoot required, was flustered and nervous as she stepped onto the photo mat near Chad.

By the time the photo shoot had finished, Rachel was a self-conscious mess and Chad wanted French fries. The hotel was a posh piece of work with every desire imagined, but Chad went to bed almost immediately after eating. A lot of questions and smiles from Rachel did little justice for the impending guilt thrashing in his chest and gut.

Sleep did very little for Chad, because, well, he slept like a baby: he woke up every two hours and fussed around the room.

Outside the room, the halls were bare and chilly, quiet in a sobering sense but eerie all the same. Dejected, Chad called Troy.

The ring dial was slow and loud, and Chad, feeling worn and worried, slid down the side of the hallway wall, waiting for Troy's voice.

"…Chad…It's two in the morning…" Troy's drained voice mumbled, but Chad didn't have the time or the energy for explanations.

"How do you know if you're doing something the right way?" Chad asked, staring at the wall parallel him.

Troy's voice had been a grumbled mess, but it turned more attentive at Chad's question. "Are you okay?"

"It's nothing, I'm just wondering."

Troy was still in Albuquerque, married to Gabriella, and consequently couldn't talk to Chad personally, but the over the phone two in the morning scenario would have to do for now.

"Is this about your wedding?"

The question sat heavily on Chad's chest as he stared up at the ceiling of the hall. With half closed eyes, he saw every specifically placed piece of glitter embedded into the ceiling of the hallway, the light peach, almost sugar pink effects subtly glimmering.

"…Why'd Sharpay have that stupid cell phone?" Chad asked with spite, feeling frustrated and angry.

Troy took a quick breath. "Man, Chad, don't—"

"With those gaudy gems."

"Chad, just _stop_."

Suddenly Chad was silent, his eyes closed like a blanket of black had fallen on his good senses. Troy was silent on the opposite side of Chad's life, and neither needed to speak, because they both understood the mile long grave Chad had just buried himself him.

"I don't see Rachel anymore," Chad said, swallowing thickly. "I love her—but I don't see Rachel when I stare at her, Troy."

"I know, but it's been eight years."

"Not for me, not when I see her everyday—like _this_."

They were silent again, and Chad opened his eyes, staring at the glittering ceiling.

-- **June afternoon, Sophomore Year**

--

--

"So, you put those all on yourself?"

"…What? Oh, yeah right; I paid someone."

"Hmm, paying someone to glue fake pink things on an already pricey cell phone. I think you've degraded the blackberry."

Sharpay scowled. "It's prettier, now, though. It glitters when I walk."

"..Okay…"

Chad sat back in his seat, staring out the window. School'd be over in less than a week; he'd be a junior with an entire summer of basketball and sleep to look forward to.

"Doing anything this summer, Sharpay?"

"I'm going to England for a two week acting program."

"Hey, me too!"

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Great, you can room with Ryan!"

And then the absentminded grinning started, and neither could go back after that.

--

--

--

Sarah Chapman's work had made her a star. Which meant that she was required to sit for interviews with Playbill (good) at nine in the morning (bad) over breakfast at a studio (worse) where she later would pick out a few proshots from the stage to display in the article (gag).

Sharpay perched gingerly in the modish metal chair, surprised at its comfort. For something so gauchely out of shape for sitting in, it felt very chic.

Magically, a mug of coffee appeared, along with a cream cheese danish. She raised her eyebrows at her interviewer. "We didn't have any tea," he said apologetically.

"No, it's not that," she reassured. "I just didn't know you knew I liked danishes."

"Industry secret," he stage whispered. "Hi, I'm Daniel."

"Oh god, that was rude of me. I'm Sharpay." She shook his proffered hand. Her blackberry chose that inopportune moment to go off, and she pulled back quickly, laughing as she retrieved it from her purse and silenced it. "Sorry."

"That's fine," he smiled back. "Should we get started?"

"Sure. Ask away." He flipped a few pages in his notebook.

"Okay. Um...All right, so. You are obviously a very talented actress, singer, and dancer."

"Why thank you."

"You are very welcome." Sharpay flashed him a grin and began dismantling her danish, careful to wipe her fingers every few seconds. "You, uh, caught your break in _Canadia_, which was directed by your friend, Ms. Chapman..."

"Oh god, I love Sarah."

"Yes, and you're also great friends with Michelle Fremont, who, as we all know, is tearing up the theater in _TELL_. So, on that note," he laughed nervously, "tell me about your friends, since it seems that all the big names in theater today are...linked to yours."

"I sound like a socialite!" she said with glee, and told a long, convoluted story about all her friends she met in college and they did now and how fabulous they all were.

He continued to ask the customary questions, she had a brother, a twin brother, who was also a big deal, Kenny Manchester, another friend of hers, he just won a Tony, singing was her first love, and then acting, she went to England once, for a Shakespeare class, only set to modern music, it was really fun, and so on.

By the time only crumbs remained on her plate, her neck hurt from trying to appear alert, and her mouth had fixed itself into a perpetual smile so Daniel wouldn't notice her complete boredom.

"Okay, one last thing," he said. She exhaled carefully, in case he picked up on her relief. "I noticed...that your phone is BeDazzled." Sharpay looked down at her hands, which closed around cheap pink jewels.

"Yeah, I..." she forced a giggle, "oh god, this is going to sound so diva-like. It's horrible."

He smiled. "What?"

"I...I seriously have no patience, like, at all, with doing things by hand, so I actually, whenever I get something I want to BeDazzle, I pay someone else to do it." Daniel frowned good-naturedly. "It's horrible!"

"You could do so much worse," he told her, which was what she intended for him to say, and closed his notebook. They stood, and she shook his hand before marching out of the frigid studio.

Sharpay staggered home, wondering exactly how an hour could be so debilitating to her day. Stopping only to scoop up Ella from the floor, she made a straight route to her bed, where the latest _People _lay, waiting to revel in the debauchery of Hollywood.

She skipped through the beginning, since "StarTracks" didn't feature anyone she cared about, and flipped to the middle. Fingers froze over a blurry picture, eyes flashed through the article, dragged, against her will, back up to the headline every few words.

Half way down the page, her hand drifted to the side, seeking outher stack of mail from yesterday. She flipped through the envelopes hurriedly, but time seemed to drag on, and as her crazed eyes saw flashes of "Denny's" and "Schwartz," she began to despair, which slowly built to anger at her disparity.

There it was. Cream colored, heavy paper, the stamps indicating that the US Mail had mis-delivered it last week. Red postal ink smudged her address. Her heart sank tiredly, as though it had practiced this very act thousands of times before, at every rumor and every confirmation, completely without her consent.

The picture still refused to focus for her, so she abandoned the magazine to scan the late letter. There was a date which she promptly forgot, a place which she swore she'd never heard of, and two names that she knew entirely too well.

"Chad and Rachel..." It was a wedding. Fate decided that she would find out about this on the same day as the Rest of the World. Sharpay felt insulted.

She wondered whose idea it was to invite her. Probably Rachel's; Unfortunately, Rachel probably _did _remember Interlochen; she needed a longer guest list, Sharpay supposed, to match Chad's. Rest assured, Chad probably wouldn't suggest inviting her.

Sharpay looked at the heavy paper one more time, and told herself that she would go, because this sort of infatuation with the past needed to end.

But she couldn't talk to him about that. They hadn't even seen each other since high school. She bit her lip in frustration, angry at herself for being so affected about this wedding.

Sharpay slid a smaller card out from the envelope. She signed the line, and promptly walked downstairs to send out the RSVP to keep herself from reconsidering later.

Silverware was always a good choice. Maybe a crystal bowl. A crystal punch bowl with a silver ladle. Or a gravy boat. Chad would have no use for something like a gravy boat. A BeDazzled gravy boat. She liked the idea.

-

-

-

**A/N: **

**StarVitamin** Chad, oh silly Chad, and his drama. I do hope it gets the idea that he sees Sharpay in Rachel's appearance, which is why he's not over Sharpay after eight years. Oh, and thank you again for all your fabulous comments! We really appreciate it them!

**TehFuzzyPenguin**Yes, I know the pacing in my part is wretched. I'm very, very sorry. For once, I love my OC's, so...there's a saving grace? Thanks for reading, everyone!


	8. Us Weekly and Dusty Trophies

_Chapter 8_

_(Us Weekly and Dusty Trophies) _

_-_

_-_

_-_

"Where is it?" Ryan asked.

Sharpay's voice drifted from her room in Ryan and Marshall's house in Colorado Springs, where she was staying to get some semblance of vacation that Ryan, at this moment, was not allowing her. He kept bringing it up, and she kept pretending not to understand. "What are you talking about?"

"Where's the wedding?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Sharpay, you got invited to the _Rachad_ wedding, you can't _not_ know."

"Ryan, do you remember where I left my red jacket, the one you like so much? I can't find it in my apartment, and I..." She trailed off as she slowly backed out of her room and into the living room, to see Ryan looking nonchalantly up at her. "You didn't."

"Of course—"

"Ryan! Just because we're not in high school anymore does not give you license to steal my clothes!"

"I didn't wear it, I just...passed it on to someone more unfortunate in the fashion department." Sharpay sat resignedly next to him on the couch.

"Well, at least it went to a good cause." She sighed. "Honestly, I haven't even looked at the invitation since I got it."

"Sharpay! It's the premiere social event of the year! Anyone who's anyone is friends with Rachad! Did you at least RSVP?"

Her ears caught up with her brain, and Sharpay said, suddenly, "Did you just Bennifer their names?" He looked guiltily around the couch, as though someone else had said it. "Ryan, you just Bennifered Rachel from Interlochen and Chad idiot basketball player."

"It was _Us Weekly_, okay? They Bennifered them. Actually, they called Rachel a 'dead ringer for Sharpay Evans.'"

"Great, now people will think that _I'm_ marrying Chad Danforth."

"Did you RSVP?"

"Of course I RSVP'd, Ryan, it's in a month. If I didn't, then I'd have to eat dinner next to Hilary Duff."

"Ew."

"I know."

"Do you have a plus one?" Sharpay picked up the _Us Weekly_ that Ryan mentioned and frowned at the cover, which promised to divulge details about "Rachad's wedding," including the "secret location," which she scoffed at the irony of.

"What?"

"A plus one. You know, when you RSVP, you say 'Sharpay Evans plus one.'" She snorted.

"No one brings a date to a wedding, Ryan, it's like bringing McDonald's to Sardi's. Now you've ruined your appetite, and you could have done so much better. And you've offended all the people at the place."

Ryan smirked. "That is a horrible analogy."

"Works like a miracle. But it's true, you only bring a date to a wedding if you want to impress someone."

"And everyone there should be working to impress you, not the other way around."

"My point exactly." Sharpay turned to the "secret location" and laughed out loud at the claim. "I don't know where it is, but it's most definitely not in Adam Brody's California mansion." She tapped her lips. "Didn't you get invited?"

"Nah. Rachel was more your friend, she probably forgot about me. And considering how you left it with Chad..."

"Ryan..." Sharpay closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them again, her face had composed itself to a strange state of seriousness. "Forgive me, twin brother, for I have wronged," she began morosely.

"Go on."

She took a deep breath, and released the small amount of nostalgic love remaining in her memory. "Here's the thing, okay? I am going to a wedding. A wedding I was invited to by someone I didn't really like who everyone now thinks looks like me. I will have to eat hors d'oeuvres with Kathy Griffith and her obnoxious voice yapping in my ear."

Ryan shuddered, and Sharpay continued. "There will be celebrities there, celebrities who are also married and have children, and even if they are celebrities, they will ultimately succumb to the trappings of parenthood and want to show me photos of their cute children."

"Hansel and Gretel?" Ryan thought about putting in a line about the witch who got pushed into her oven, but thought better.

"Hazel and Phineas. But Julia is very nice, so maybe I'll actually enjoy that one showing. I will have to congratulate the bride, when I should be consoling the groom, because no man should undergo the torture of marriage to that vapid piece of California cardboard."

Sharpay closed the magazine and picked up an apple from Ryan's perfectly feng-shui-ed table. Biting into it for emphasis, she finished: "I will have to sit in a long, uncomfortable pew, surrounded by gross, sweating people, without a plus one. I will have to watch..." she faltered, taking a little too much time to swallow. "Watch the person I once gave my heart to marry someone that's not me, and should not be me, and I will have to face that the way he has."

She chewed some more, feeling emotionally drained, which, for her, seemed a lot tiring than it should be. She looked over at Ryan. "Okay, you can talk again."

He challenged, in a mocking sort of way, "To absolve your wrongs, you must...hm. Say something nice."

"Puppies," she returned quickly, a wry smile taking over her face. "Hot chocolate. Rainbows." Sharpay broke out into song, "Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens; Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens, brown paper packages tied up with strings."

"Har. Har."

"You asked for it." Ryan didn't say anything, because for her to come to terms with the whole Chad thing meant that she was really over it, not that she was under it to begin with.

He merely told her, "You are a terrible person."

"Going to hell in a hand basket. Wanna come with?"

---**Winter, Junior Year**

---

---

"What do you think," Chad asked quietly, fingers tracing circles on her bare stomach, making her squirm. "What do you think the high school would do if I told them you weren't a natural blond?"

He found a particularly ticklish spot, and she jerked, almost kicking him in the face. She didn't apologize. "I think they would ask you how you knew that, and I am not that far off from blond."

"True."

"On both counts?"

"I think we should tell them," he said casually.

Sharpay glared at him. "Where am I going," she deadpanned, "and why am I in this hand basket?" It was an acquiescence, of sorts.

---

---

---

"I'm marrying a jock, and I know nothing about sports," Rachel murmured flatly, flipping through a magazine with phony interest.

Wednesday afternoon neither sought nor held any fascinating events. Chad's day off brought a lot of sleep and lounge time with Rachel, a TV guide of soap operas, and a fully cheese puff-stocked kitchen.

Basically: It was raining, and no one wanted to do anything.

Rachel threw the magazine onto a pile of neglected catalogues, flipping onto her back and glancing at the ceiling. "Hey, Chad?"

Chad had been delving through an old box of dust and moths, trying to locate an old trophy he won in high school. It wasn't going well. "Yeah, babe?"

The curtains of their bedroom were a dark purple, a happier black if black had a happier side; Rachel had journeyed to Linens and Things, fought through crowds of bored women, and rescued the purple set from an obnoxious fat lady. Dusty because neither Rachel nor Chad had been home the last few days, the curtains covered the window pane and hid anything unpleasant.

The rain poured down and down and down.

"Have you been okay? You've seemed sorta tired lately…I was just wondering," she recited, staring at the curtains.

Chad didn't notice her distress. "Err, I'm fine. I guess I'm tired from traveling…"

They were both tired, actually. Rachel scheduled time away from work only to receive more work, Chad was kept busy with press everything, and they were both seeing less and less of the other.

"I know…" Rachel whispered, rubbing the back of her neck as she sat up. "Traveling's not as much fun as everyone says," she laughed, walking to the curtains and straightening them.

Chad laughed. "I guess not…"

The curtains didn't look any better—they crinkled worse than before.

Rachel took a quick breath before turning to her fiancé. "Chad?"

"Hmm, yeah?"

"…Are you sure you're okay? I mean—you'll tell me if you aren't, right?"

Chad shoved the box back and sat on the floor; he looked to Rachel. "Did something happen today?"

"What? Oh no—I'm just worried…that's all."

Chad walked to her, kissing her on cheek. "Let's go out for dinner tonight—I saw a dessert store you'll like."

Rachel grinned and tipped her head back. "As much as I'd love to, it's like hell in a hand basket out there."

Coughing awkwardly, Chad flashed an uncomfortable smirk as a picture of Sharpay slapped him roughly in the face. Rachel rarely used such a phrase, but when she did, it was a jumble of irritation and harsh flashbacks he'd rather not revisit.

Hand basket?

This was starting to appear remotely unfair, and Chad knew it.

Rachel had started dusting the curtains. "Found your trophy yet?"

"No…I'm wondering if Troy has it…" Chad mumbled, shaking his had and digging further into the second box.

Everything was frosted thick with dust, proving Chad was still a slob eight years after high school. Troy was Chad's memorabilia supervisor, or for some reason Troy had at least half of everything Chad used to own: basketballs, old jerseys, trophies. He quietly accepted his high school collection, as prized and honored as it had been, was probably safer with Troy.

With a glance at Rachel, Chad shoved the box into the nearest closet as far as he could.

-

-

-

**A/N:**

**TehFuzzyPenguin **Plus one comes from somewhere, I swear I didn't make it up myself... does anyone else love how half of Chad's stuff is with Troy? It's wonderful.

**StarVitamin** Who was in histerical fits while reading Robin's half of the chapter? It is wit at its finest, from both Sharpay and Ryan. As for my side, please, please tell me everyone's seeing the separation and tension that's growing between Rachel and Chad? If not, I officially suck at writing. Please review, you guys! It's epic Chadpay!


	9. Penmanship and Wedding Gifts

_chapter__ 9_

(Penmanship and Wedding Gifts)

_-_

_-_

_-_

He was lying more, but Rachel didn't notice.

The wedding was two weeks away—something had to go wrong.

The cake was a soft mix of honey and chocolate; a mist of white and blue brushed over its surface, with long boulevards of roses and golden leaves fading at each corner. The five tiers of cake, each with its own set of roses and gold and frills and lace, towered skyward, proud and delicious.

There were four more just like it.

Rachel was ecstatic, Chad didn't care, and the Flora Tristan Bakery was extremely pleased with its full wallet.

Bakery goods proved the amusing disaster the Danforth wedding would easily survive. Lucrecia Mott Gourmet Bakery had not only designed all five cakes three weeks before the wedding, they had accidentally sent them to Marc Anthony's house on the assumption that Chad Danforth's wedding was being held there; needless to say, a very confused Jennifer Lopez and a whole lot of paparazzi would be eating honey chocolate cake for the the next few months.

A rush job of cakes created the gorgeous five tiered dream cake Rachel—and every other girl and her Barbie—had always wanted. The tester cake was due today, and thankfully it was a flying success.

By the end of the session, Chad was slightly sick of cake and flowers, and Rachel and fifty other women were reviewing seating arrangements. As was tradition amongst the rich, Chad's wedding had been planned months ago, but even with the last few days so close, planners and assistants and caterers would not, or could not, leave the sketch of the wedding day alone.

Chad made an awkward sigh before turning to a window. The weather had gotten over its cold: sunshine and all that jazz, a breeze somewhere, and he was certain he heard birds. People were busy with walking and cell phones and company, passing by the window without realizing they were being watched. A little girl in a red coat, a woman with a dog and her assistant, a man commuting to a distant city for work/adultery/space. Chad, his hands stuffed loosely in his pockets, face calmed and shoulders relaxed, could relate to no one.

The interest died down, and Chad turned to the large binder that was the tester guest list. He flipped through the pages with boredom.

**A. **

Adams, Michelle. Old high school friend.

….

Almost no As.

**B.**

Bolton, Troy.

Bolton, Gabriella.

Some guy.

Some girl. _She_ hadn't been seen for years. How nice to appear out of no where.

More people. _They_ were rich and probably Chad's neighbors or something…

And so on.

**C. **

Rachel's family. Rachel had a lot of family.

**D.**

Chad's family. Chad didn't have much family.

Celebrities he didn't know or like. But they'd bring the world as a gift and then sprinkle it with dollar bills.

**E.**

Only one E.

Evans, Sharpay.

Chad's fingers hung still over the page: even in writing, Sharpay Evans made a man stop still. Her name, a small print against the dozens of Cs and Ds, managed to overtake the page and immortalize her presence at Chad Danforth's wedding forever. The S twirled across the lines and the E followed it; very soon the only name left was Sharpay Evans.

Chad swallowed thickly, staring at the letters like they were Sharpay's eyes.

He'd have to face her, the truth, and a very heartbreaking decision in a matter of weeks. He'd have to—

"You're stuck here, aren't you?" a voice rang, yanking Chad from the flood he was drowning in.

Chad looked up; his face broke into a grin as he saw Troy standing in the doorway.

"_Finally_, I thought your plane had sent you back to Albuquerque or something!" Chad joked as he and Troy hugged.

"Ugh, I'd rather take the train back," Troy mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with a weird laugh. Troy's fear of planes, a phobia from childhood, had waned but not dispersed. His loyalty to Chad was almost \ unwavering—no plane would keep him from his best friend's wedding.

"How's Gabriella? Is she here?"

"Back at the hotel, but we were thinking dinner with you and Rachel tonight?"

"Yeah, of course; Man, Troy, I can't believe you got a hotel—"

Troy cut in. "—I like hotels." Or he hated Rachel.

The attendants and planners had separated, leaving Rachel with a head full of wedding jitters and freshly made seating arrangements. She saw Troy and the two managed a friendly conversation of salutations and a lot of hand movements before she announced she had a dress fitting.

"It's nice seeing you, Troy," she said with a genuine smile, turning to Chad with a softer grin. "See you later, honey."

Chad kissed her on the cheek and watched her leave. Troy and Chad were the only ones left in the room.

"Are you kidding me, Chad?" Troy said quickly, pointing at the opened guest list/binder. "You invited _Sharpay_?" The pair of gents stared at the crowded page of names, the E section reserved only for Sharpay.

"You know I didn't. I guess Rachel and Sharpay knew each other at Interlochen or something."

Troy breathed in. "It's amazing how even now her name stands out against everyone else's."

Chad coughed a laugh as meekly as a guy could, nodding subtly as he thought of Sharpay's obnoxious handwriting. Her swirl of an S and a bow of an E…

-- **End of Fall, Junior Year**

--

--

"God, your writing looks like chicken scratch," Sharpay sneered, rolling her eyes noticeably before sitting in front of Chad.

"Sorry, I don't work on my penmanship like I do my other skills…" he said with a grin, bending over her titled head and kissing her mouth.

"What other skills?" she threw as a response, leaning back into Chad's chest as he tangled his arms around her waist.

"You're not even funny."

"What're you talking about? I'm hilarious."

Chad chuckled before kissing the back of her neck.

"See?" Sharpay mumbled with a grin, lacing her fingers with is. "You're writing could be like mine, if you practice."

"But yours is so…loop-ish."

"Spacious. S's require more room than other letters."

"Fine, fine, whatever you say," Chad whispered with a smile, rubbing his thumb across the top of Sharpay's hand.

--

--

--

Sharpay pressed down, down down down, fingers almost white with pressure. These things should not bother her, she was thinking. She had a career and a life and—her thoughts broke off as something decidedly uncomfortable began sliding down her fingers. She looked irritably at her hand.

Oh. The pen broke.

The inoffensive, perfectly innocent writing utensil was snapped in half, even its usually pliable ink tube a victim to her inattention.

"Dammit," she muttered, moving the dripping plastic over the clean paper so that it wouldn't stain her apartment floor. "Most people would be on hand with a towel," she directed at Michelle, who was watching her with amusement.

"Most people wouldn't break their pen," she answered. She did reach back, though, snagged a paper napkin from the counter, and offered it to Sharpay. "Not doing any more than that."

"If I was on top of a building, threatening to jump, you would give me a rope and say 'Tie it tight!' wouldn't you?"

"Hell no. I'd give you a pair of golden wristbands and say 'Make Wonder Woman proud!'" Sharpay snorted, wrapping the faded pink napkin loosely around her hand before rushing to the sink.

"No you wouldn't," she said over the running water. "You'd try to, ruin it, and then hand me a rope." She finished washing off her hand and dropped the dead pen into the trashcan.

Michelle waited until she sat down again to ask, "So why do you need me here to help you write a note to the Rachad?"

"It's not a note, Michelle, and they're not called _Rachad_." Sharpay pulled another piece of clean, white paper from her stack, lined pink with ribboned bells decorating the corners. She found it incredibly tacky, but it was pink, and it _was_ for a wedding gift.

"So what is it?" Her former roommate gestured at the wrapped box too big to rest on the table.

"It's a birdbath." Michelle looked stunned.

"A bird—"

"A birdbath. A Grecian birdbath."

"Did the Greeks even _have_ birdbaths?"

"It doesn't matter. I didn't ask you. I asked you here, my friend who is for once not in a show and not too exhausted to annoy me, because despite the fact that I am very talented, extremely funny, and a rather attractive person, I am not good at writing wedding condolences to a groom without out rightly insulting the bride."

"You don't like Rachel, so you're giving her a birdbath for her wedding, after which she will probably live in LA, where birdbaths are the next must-have?"

"Michelle, if _I_ gave her that birdbath, I'm sure she can make it the next must-have."

Michelle glared at her. "You're telling me this two days before the wedding so I won't have a chance to find anything else, aren't you?"

"Even I'm not that manipulative, Michelle." She paused. "Or maybe I am. Either way, your hyperactive mind should have no problem coming up with a wedding gift for the couple that has it all."

Sharpay exhaled and stretched her fingers, only slightly unsettled as she realized that—oh yes, she'd broken her pen. She reached past her ream of new stationery to a row of equally tacky pink pens, and selected one from the end, in a way that didn't disturb any of the other pens.

"Chad and Rachel," she said out loud, writing haphazardly across the top of the page. Her voice contorted into some semblance of delight, and her letters, though impeccably formed, carried a kind of rushed air that implied rapturous joy at the announcement of their nuptials. "So happy for both of you!"

She thought for several minutes, until Michelle prompted her to continue with a "How original."

"This is why I invited you over to begin with," Sharpay barked. Crumpling up the paper, she sighed dejectedly. "This isn't going to work."

"I'm sorry, what isn't going to work? Personally, I think that if you got yourself invited to the Racha...el and Chad wedding, there isn't much you can do wrong."

"As usually, Michelle, you've forgotten to account for things like me choking on a fish bone, me clashing with the flowers, me sitting next to Hilary Duff, me just being unfabulous in general, as strange as that may seem." Sharpay threw the paper ball at Michelle's face and scowled. "Maybe I should just say 'From Sharpay Evans, happy honeymoon.'"

"Wouldn't most people say that anyway?"

"_Exactly._" Michelle pulled a look of disinterest. "You're already a legend, you don't worry about these things." Michelle laughed.

"You think you're not a legend?"

"I think I don't have a legion of fangirls who gossip about how you smell."

"You say that like you're jealous." Sharpay wrinkled her nose.

She said, "Good point." Taking another sheet of paper, she dicated, "Rachel and Chad—Congratulations! The best is yet to come."

Michelle feigned surprise. "That's nice of you," she said.

"I try. Anyway, the point is, if you slap your name on something, it's instantly golden. And if I do...it still has to be good."

"Well, I would hope so. I'd hate to slap my name on something gross. Are you saying that if you slap your name on this wedding gift, it still has to be good? Cos it's...not."

"Shut up," Sharpay said. "God, why did I invite you over?"

"Cos I'm gorgeous." Sharpay took in the sweatpants and t-shirt and haphazardly thrown ponytail.

"Must be." She looked at her "note," and sighed. "Yeah, I'm not going to do anymore for them. Now for the finishing touch." She gripped the pen loosely, an involuntary smile sliding over her lips, and signed her name. It took up more room than the actual note, with an extra-curly 'y' for good measure. The last 's' was just elaborate as the first, and she just knew that Chad would derive some sort of misery from it.

Michelle clapped her hands, and said, "Sharpay, what kind of cake will they have?"

"_What_?" She looked at Michelle's smiling face and groaned. "Dammit, the peppy one came back."

"Cake, Shar, what kind of cake? You always know." Sharpay capped her pen and folded up the paper, putting it in an envelope and sticking it to the top of the birdbath.

"Um..." she palmed her face. "Okay. Five layers. And...chocolate. It would be chocolate. Chad—they would like chocolate. And honey. A chocolatey-honey cake. It'll be like inhaling a cavity. With, um, buttercream icing. No, whipped. No...This one I don't know, 'chelle."

"I know what you can get them besides that monstrosity."

Sharpay was almost scared to ask, "What?"

"A sterling silver telephone dialer." Michelle looked smug.

"You stole that from _Breakast__ At Tiffany's_, you Audrey wannabe." She looked down at the envelope on top of the birdbath. Two things that neither wedding party really wanted to have. "No, I think I'll keep this one."

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**A/N: **StarVitamin: I like the flashback. So. This Friday will most definitely reintroduce the sickening glory of canon couples. Probably a sensitive Sharpay. A straight Ryan. Chaylor (shudder, gag). It's more unfortunate reinforcement for high expectations worse than Disney princesses. But let's hope it's good. And Chad and Troy get together.

TehFuzzyPenguin: Yes, I know nothing is happening, but I swear! They'll meet soon. very, very soon. In the meantime, try not to get too caught up with whatever this Friday will bring because...just because. Because I've heard rumors and I would just like to say this for the record: Sharpay almost never cries unless she's faking it; Ryan is GAY; Gabriella and Troy would make a horrible couple once they got over the whole "breaking free" routine; Taylor's an unjustified bitch; Chad is selfish; no one is good at EVERYthing; Don't believe everything you see on HSM 2, apparently the writers favored MARKETABILITY over BELIEVABILITY and...oh, CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. the end.


	10. A Wedding, a Reunion, But No Funeral

_(Chapter 10)_

_(A Wedding, a Reunion, But No Funeral) _

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The wedding reception gleamed with perfection. The tables sparkled with too much glassware, the cutlery looked too new to be usable, and somehow, Sharpay found the swan-shaped candles a little excessive. But the food was good.

Sharpay had made a cursory survey and found, to her delight, that she would not be sharing a table with Hilary Duff or Orlando Bloom. Someone had looked kindly on her; her dinner guests were Idina Menzel (she hadn't seen Idina in ages) and Danny Tripp (Danny was a singer from New York; Sharpay had met him right before his record deal).

Sharpay took in the five layer white-and-blue, rose trimmed cake with some apprehension. She and Michelle were good at predicting wedding cakes, but this was slightly uncanny. Thousands of guests filtered around her, trying to be noticed by as many other people as possible. To ensure her personal safety, Sharpay made sure to stand in the one place everyone would flock to: the dessert table. She hadn't had any dessert, but anyone passing by couldn't miss her elegant pink form gripping a champagne glass lightly. (She hadn't been drinking the champagne, either, but that was beside the point.)

So Chad couldn't miss her.

"Finally," he said, approaching her, "someone I actually know."

"Hard to imagine," she said, turning, not expecting to see him. "Oh. Hello, Mr. Danforth." She held out her hand.

"Miss Evans. I didn't know you were going to be here."

"I doubt that, but thanks for the implied compliment. You said that you knew me, anyway."

Chad cleared his throat and smiled charmingly. She raised an eyebrow. "You got me. I saw you in the guest book."

"Then I suppose _Rachel_ invited me." Chad ignored her stress on "Rachel."

"Did you enjoy the ceremony?"

"I especially enjoyed the part where Troy—I mean Mr. Bolton—almost left the rings on the side table in your room."

"That didn't happen."

"I know. That's why I said almost. Have I congratulated you yet? I haven't. Congratulations on your happy day, Mr. Danforth."

"Sharp—"

A high voice pierced their ears, "Sharpay!" Sharpay started slightly.

"I didn't know you invited sirens." But it wasn't a siren; it was Rachel, in her ruffled white glory (Sharpay begrudgingly admitted that she looked pretty in it) whose vocal box was more powerful than her elbows.

A few minutes later, Rachel had come up to them. "Chad, there you are! I was going to introduce you to Sharpay Evans, but—"

"We've met, baby," he assured her, laughing. He kissed her forehead and turned to Sharpay with his arm around her waist, his face the picture of faked sincerity (from years of watching her friends, Sharpay had learned to tell the difference).

"Sharpay!" Rachel gushed, reaching out to take Sharpay's hands. "I'm so happy you came, when I got your RSVP, I was so excited!"

Sharpay smiled fully. "It was a beautiful wedding, Rachel. And to Chad Danforth! I'm jealous."

"That's what everyone tells me, but I really love him, I do."

"Aw," Chad cut in. "I love you, too, babe."

Rachel let Sharpay go, her attention already focused on other neglected guests. Chad attempted to leave with her, but she told him to stay, saying "You two would get along, and Sharpay is such a great friend of mine. Please talk to her?" Sharpay almost screamed when he did stay.

Sharpay watched her leave. "How many easy payments did _that_ cost?"

"Sharpay..."

"That was mean, I'm sorry. You have every right to disinvite me now."

"I'm not going to disinvite you."

"Damn." She was only half joking. Sharpay ran her eye over the cake again. "What kind is it?"

"Huh?"

"The cake, Chad."

"Oh. It's um."

Sharpay watched him struggle. "You forgot," she said flatly.

"Honey chocolate," he said right after she stopped speaking. He grinned smugly at her. "There was a mix-up three weeks ago and I was trying to remember if Rachel got the replacements on time. But yes. And there are several others just like it hanging around at lesser dessert bars. We'll be cutting this one soon."

"Huh. Well," she said perkily, "I'm flattered that you saw me in the middle of all these celebrities—"

"You're not the type to blend in, Sharpay." She didn't falter.

"—and I see Julia over there, so if you'll excuse me; I haven't seen her in such a long time!" As she left him, she said over her shoulder, "save a dance for me!"

Sharpay scurried over to Julia Roberts, asking to see pictures of Hazel and Phineas as they greeted each other. She sincerely hoped that Chad didn't save a dance for her, but it was fun watching him get swallowed by the crowd.

"You know him?" Julia asked, referring to Chad.

Sharpay shrugged. "A long time ago."

Julia gave her an inquisitive look. "Scandalous?"

They both turned to regard Chad through a curtain of other bodies. "No," Sharpay said. "Not really."

"Where's Michelle?" Julia asked.

"She didn't get invited!"

"What?"

"I know! But she has to be in a workshop this weekend, anyway."

Julia Roberts smiled accommodatingly. "There's the real reason."

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--

Chad wasn't sure if he was _really_ meant to save her a dance, but at half past eight he had pulled Sharpay from a group of strangers and onto the dance floor, keeping in mind his out-of-sight wife. The song was overly cheesy and probably a 90s one hit wonder, but Chad wasn't paying attention, anyway.

"Mm, you still can't waltz," Sharpay commented, feeling the pressure of Chad's hand against her lower back.

"My dear, I think you're wrong," Chad said with a smile, stepping away from Sharpay to spin her around.

Sharpay didn't remark, and Chad took the opportunity to change the conversation. "So, Broadway?"

"Did you expect anything else?"

"No, not really."

"Be _happy_. At least one person from East High found success outside basketball."

"Wait, Broadway's successful?"

"Wow, and you haven't changed. At all."

Chad laughed into her neck before stepping away. "I'm kidding, Sharpay."

If the dance was remotely memorable, it was due to the expected electricity pumping from each touch, the clichéd brush of the fingers, the lightness of each step. Chad surrounded himself in the very essence of Sharpay, a delectable treat equivalent to that of poison. He decided, with a slightly defunct heart, that Sharpay's personality remained infinitely Sharpay, her atmosphere unquestionable and her confidence completely attractive.

The dance ended, and Chad found himself following Sharpay outside to a nearby balcony, unintentionally snubbing his guests and his newly married wife. Leaving for a two week honeymoon to the Bahamas, Chad knew this anti-Romeo and Juliet balcony experience would probably be his last chance to ever talk to or see Sharpay again.

"So, pretty hard to believe you're actually married," Sharpay started, pressing her forearms against the balcony railing as she leaned into it.

Chad joined her. "I guess it doesn't really seem like me."

Sharpay laughed. "Unfortunately marriage is for everyone. I've never understood why people bind themselves in relationships they aren't ready to commit to."

Finding the similarity between Sharpay and Rachel wasn't hard on superficial terms, but anything relating to their separate personalities couldn't be farther apart. Sharpay's view on life was astoundingly original and real; she wasn't a pessimist, but Sharpay certainly would never lie to herself. Rachel, his loving, sweet Rachel, could hardly be considered overly self-assured; what she lacked in realism she made up for in fabrications, which Chad had never fully adapted himself to. If anything, his assuredness was pretty parallel to Sharpay's. He rarely lied to himself until now.

"I kinda expected you to say that," Chad finally replied, smirking at her.

Sharpay smirked back and sipped her drink before staring up at the lack-of-stars in the sky. "How's Troy?"

"Happily married, did you expect anything else?"

"Oh, never. Well, that's a lie. But I won't go into my expectations."

They were silent. Chad brushed his fingers over the rim of his wine glass, staring over the balcony as Sharpay stared above it.

Finally, Chad said, very lightly, "I'm glad you came."

Sharpay shifted before looking back at him. "Of course, I guess. But I have to admit, I really came to see if you'd choke on your vows. Really."

"I'm serious, Sharpay," Chad said, sobering, no smirk, an invisible pressure falling on his shoulders. He caught her stare and held onto it, afraid if he let go he wouldn't find it again.

"Hey," Sharpay said just above her breath, stepping forward and kissing him on the cheek. "Have fun on your honeymoon."

She turned her back on him, and all Chad could do was stare as she walked away.

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_End Chapter 10_

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**A/N: TehFuzzyPenguin** I know, there's no flashback! But they met. They did. And it was--disappointing, I'm sure, but there's at least four more chapters to this, so it can't end now! You should know that I love Julia Roberts. Keep reading! (I decline comment on HSM2)

**StarVitamin** Man, I did not rock the dialogue in this chapter. So, the wedding's over, believe it or not, and the next chapter's insanely significant, so make sure to stay alert! Thanks again for all your kind comments, we really appreciate them!


	11. The Proposal and the Breakdown

(Chapter 11)

(The Proposal and the Breakdown)

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Two weeks in paradise felt a lot like two years in a guilty hell. The Bahamas were open arms to workaholics and newlyweds, or workaholic-newlyweds, and against Chad's guilt over the past, he was happy to have some time away from anything remotely related with the name Shar and Pay . Rachel, stressed from her job as a bio-technician, found the beach a welcomed friend, and spent the majority of her time with Chad on white sand.

However, back at home, Chad's frustration and guilt were a constant reminder of his unhappiness.

He loved Rachel, he knew he did, but he loved her for the wrong reasons. He couldn't treat Rachel like this for much longer; it was unfair to her, and he knew they'd both end up miserable.

He wanted Sharpay; he had decided on her eight years ago.

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-- **Summer after East High Senior Year **

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At ninety degrees, the summer night was strip poker hot, a mixture of warm air, lanterns, booths, bodies, and a general murmur of a good time. The annual Albuquerque Summer Festival had been booming with hundreds of high schoolers and kids since ten that morning. Music could be heard over the rapid conversations of teens and the giggling of kids.

The majority of the East High gang could be seen near the fountains, goofing off and cherishing the summer night, because, of course, school would be starting in a month. Err. College. Military school. Rite-Aide. To each his own.

Missing from the group was Chad, who had disappeared to an obnoxiously colorful bridge hanging over a manmade and rather ugly-looking stream. His hand was laced with Sharpay's, and the two walked in unison.

"Do you know what you're gonna pack yet?" Chad asked as the two came to a stop. Sharpay pressed her back into the railing, and Chad gladly leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her neck. Sharpay was leaving for AMDA, The American Musical and Dramatic Academy, about two weeks before Chad's first day at UCLA came into the picture.

Sharpay settled into Chad's hold, smirking. "For AMDA? Oh, everything. I don't want to be stuck there without, you know, necessities."

"Hair straightener and lipstick?"

"No, my stilettos and convertible."

Both broke into a short laughter, comforted by the other's familiarity. Together for over a year, the couple, despite their occupations, had grown close because of their similarities and their confidence. College proved the one thing strong enough to separate Chad and Sharpay, and both were taking the inevitable severance with a stubborn heart.

Chad smiled as he leaned in for a kiss, pressing his lips to Sharpay lightly. "I love you," he said quietly, and Sharpay smirked at him with amusement, responding with the same three words, her arms at his shoulders, her body against his.

"Mm, maybe AMDA'll be too easy for you. UCLA would love their own Sharpay," Chad said, quietly upset they'd half to break up after the summer ended.

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "As fabulous as Uuk-laa sounds, I'm actually looking forward to AMDA."

"You roommate's gonna be some crazy cheerleader obsessed with neat laundry."

"Oh, damn, and I here I was hoping for a nympho party-girl."

"Can't win all the time, babe."

They smirked at each other, and Chad propelled them across the bridge before they stopped a final time. The area was empty, warm and comfortable, and Chad swallowed with a bit of nervousness as he took Sharpay's hand.

"Hey," he said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Sharpay leaned into his grip. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, his voice leaving any playfulness behind. "I don't want to break up after this summer."

Sharpay gave him an odd look at his suddenness, but said nothing.

Chad read her silence as motivation to continue forward. "I think we should get married instead." A slight breeze picked up, moving Sharpay's bangs from her face. Chad's eyes were caught with hers, and although Sharpay's silence had driven him earlier, her continued stare only scared him. "Please marry me, Sharpay," he whispered, taking out a ring from his pocket, a ring he had spent his entire summer savings on.

The ring was surprisingly breathtaking, showing Chad was more attentive to a girl's idea of beauty than his stereotyped personality allowed. He held the ring in front of her, his own heart a sickened mess as he awaited a response.

Sharpay closed her eyes, swallowed, and said quite clearly, "No."

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"They played our song," Sharpay said listlessly. Michelle raised an eyebrow.

She asked, "What?"

"They played our song," Sharpay repeated, her voice in a whispered monotone. Michelle put down her magazine and reached across the café table, taking Sharpay's hand.

"I _meant_," she amended, "why did I just hear those words coming out of your mouth?" Sharpay pulled away sharply and grabbed her tea mug (it had a graffiti pattern that she liked and always got). Michelle continued as Sharpay brought the steaming cup to her mouth, "You didn't even break into song on that one."

Sharpay swallowed, and rasped, "I didn't feel like it."

Michelle reached again, taking Sharpay's mug and blowing on the liquid. "Don't do that," she chastised. "Stop trying to scald your mouth."

"Why?" Sharpay growled.

"I really hope that was rhetorical." Michelle sighed. "I thought you said it wasn't a big deal."

"It wasn't."

"That you didn't really like Rachel."

"I don't."

"Or Chad."

"He's an idiot."

"I thought you were okay."

"I'm not."

"I'm sick of playing you," Michelle said, as a last resort, really uncomfortable with being the aggressor in this relationship.

Sharpay replied, "I'm sick of playing me, too." She finally looked up and met Michelle's eyes. "I'm sick of being depressed," she said. "I'm sick of letting...letting _him_ control my life. I'm sick of saying stupid things like 'they played our song.' I'm sick, 'chelle."

Michelle took her hand again, and passed marginally cooler mug back across the table. "This isn't healthy," she said, as Sharpay took a large sip. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"It doesn't matter. I thought I was okay. Obviously, I'm not."

"You're ruining your voice with this. When was the last time you practiced?"

Sharpay shrugged. "Before I left, I think."

"_Two weeks_?" Michelle almost yelped. "What the hell?"

"Oh shut up, it's my damn voice," Sharpay snapped. "God," she muttered. "God, when I'd gone to college, I never expected to get you as my roommate."

"God," Michelle mimicked. "God, when I'd graduated, I never expected you to turn into this."

"I have success."

"You don't have a Tony."

"I'm happy."

"You're burning the skin off the inside of your mouth."

"I'm—" Michelle arrested Sharpay's wrist with her hand, and dragged the blonde up. "What the hell?"

"Come on. Come on, we're going home."

"I don't—"

"Come _on_."

Sharpay could feel it rising in her as Michelle lead her, firmly hand in hand, through the city blocks of New York (she didn't need to be lead; she could go anywhere with her eyes closed in this city). It was dark, it was gnawing, and it hurt, it did, that black space behind her ribcage, and she fought hard against it, because it was just too personal now.

She hoped Chad was happy, but knew he wasn't, because who would be happy with that obvious imitation? But at least Chad had Troy; she didn't have anyone except Ryan, and Ryan was fucking married, happy-fucking-ly married, and even if he did know the full story, he wouldn't have any words that she hadn't heard before.

Michelle pulled her down to the subway.

"'chelle—" Sharpay started weakly.

"Shut up." Who the hell was the band? Sharpay wondered. Who _plays_ "Breakfast at Tiffany's" at a _wedding_? She hated Chad for getting married, for loving her, for dancing with her, for following her to the balcony, she hated him, and she didn't have enough energy to waste on that.

Michelle got them both out, and started down the street. "Come on," she muttered, tugging Sharpay's hand. Key in hand, she opened the door of Sharpay's apartment, pulled them both in, and locked the door. Sharpay stood tiredly in the middle of her own living room, almost too tired and apathetic to move.

"Sit," Michelle commanded, and led Sharpay to the couch, sitting beside her. "Talk."

"Doesn't this sort of thing call for ice cream and Meg Ryan OD?" Sharpay asked.

Michelle almost smiled. "You're coming back. But first."

"First nothing."

"Stop being so damn evasive." Michelle angled her neck so that she could see Sharpay's face. "You lie to everyone but yourself, and I'm sick of you lying to me."

"God, I hate to sound like I'm in third grade, but _make me_," Sharpay demanded, but her voice broke.

Michelle twisted her lip, unsure of what to do. The thing was, Sharpay didn't know what she was supposed to do, either, so Michelle extended her arms hesitantly and wrapped them around Sharpay awkwardly, the blonde's shoulder digging into the brunette's chest.

"What are you doing?" Sharpay asked.

"I'm hugging you, dammit. Give me something to work with." Sharpay twisted uncomfortably, allowing Michelle to pull her head down so it rested between her neck and the back of the couch. "Okay."

"I think I'm getting hip dysplasia," Sharpay said.

"I think I'm sick of being you, so let's just get this over with."

"How?"

Michelle rested her cheek against Sharpay's hair, and thought. Beneath her, Sharpay breathed steadily. She didn't know how much longer she could go on, in lurch over Chad. It was stupid, she realized. It was stupid, and she would not think about it anymore, because it was ruining her voice and ruining her life and no one got to do that. She was better than this.

"Hey," Michelle said.

"What?"

"If he'd asked you. If he'd asked you to marry him, at the wedding, or like...I mean, if he asked you to marry him right now, and the last eight years didn't happen, what would you say?"

Sharpay breathed some more, trying to keep a pattern as she struggled with an answer. "I said no," she blurted out, and almost slapped herself for the past tense.

Michelle nodded and didn't catch the slip, which Sharpay was eternally grateful for. "You wouldn't commit."

"I don't know if I would, now."

"Did you know that when you were 18?" Michelle asked.

Sharpay exhaled raggedly, "Maybe."

"You left him."

"We left each other." Sharpay let tears prickle her eyelids for a few seconds before blinking them back, because it was stupid, stupid, stupid to go on. "God, it's just..."

"I got you," Michelle reassured, tightening her arms.

Sharpay breathed again. "I'm sorry."

"You're never sorry."

"Pretend. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I'm being so not myself. I'm...god, why are you still here? I've been so melodramatic, how can you stand it?"

"This is showbiz," Michelle explained. "And people like you and me are hard to find." Her breath stirred Sharpay's hair. "And we're friends. And even if you have the emotional capacity of a slug, we're still friends. And that means that I'm here. I don't know what to do, I'll never know what to do, but I'll try, dammit. And no matter where you go, you selfish bitch, and no matter what you do, I will be here, like a stupid, devoted dog, because I am your friend."

"And it doesn't matter that you're better than me," Sharpay added.

"And it doesn't matter that you occasionally try to use false modestly to fish for compliments."

Sharpay sniffed, her head feeling woozy from its position. "What now?"

"Ice cream," Michelle said definitively. She let Sharpay up, and wiped away a single refugee tear without saying anything. "Ice cream and Meg Ryan."

Chad, Sharpay decided, deserved one day of ice cream and Meg Ryan before he got pushed away, perpetually the one that got away that she could never have had to begin with. "What about Chad?" she asked.

"He's Chad. He's married. And you wouldn't want him even if he wasn't married. And...and you'll never see him again. So. Let it lie." Sharpay nodded. "Okay? Just...let it go."

"Okay. Get me some ice cream, dog."

Michelle smiled. "You'll be fine."

"I'm not now."

"No. But you will be. You've just been...you've been stunted at the age of 18." Michelle stood. "You have to grow up."

"Sing with me tomorrow?" Sharpay asked. She almost never let anyone practice with her, but somehow, facing tomorrow seemed a little too much. Chad was gone tomorrow. Clean slate. She wanted—needed something else. Something, anything, and she'd be fine, she'd get the sick taste out of her mouth, she'd play with Ella all day, she'd find Sarah and her eternal stack of scripts. Michelle nodded.

Eight years ago, she'd made a decision. Sharpay Evans wasn't one to regret decisions.

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**StarVitamin**See? Chad's not hung up on Sharpay for nothing. She turned him down! Spurned him! Boo. Wow, this chapter is insanely overdue. Thank you guys for sticking with us! Anyway, Robin's half of the chapter is _exactly_ how Sharpay should always be written. It blew me away and off a cliff.

**TehFuzzyPenguin**So--Sharpay breaks down. Hmmm...well, at least she's faced it, and that's the first step. And now we know exactly why they're having such a hard time (marriage proposal scene--fantastic). Annnndddd...there's something about Michelle that I didn't even realize until I reread what I wrote. That'll be made more clear later. Until then, thanks for reading, and for leaving comments! We love them all.


	12. New York and Albuquerque

(A Lifetime of Mean Reds)

(New York and Albuquerque)

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Sharpay stood in the center of the studio, dressed in faded jeans and an old t-shirt. Her hair was swept up behind a bandana, and around her wrist was tied a canvas rag. Logan stood nose-to-nose with her, dressed similarly. They held the pose while pages flipped in the background.

"Okay," Kelsi said. They relaxed and stepped away from each other. "Let's go again."

Logan walked back to a wall, with Sharpay on his arm. "Do we have a set dialogue for this?" he called out.

"Not really, just the gist of the whole thing," Sarah replied, before bending over a notebook with Kelsi. "Make it up, Logan, you're an actor."

Logan pulled a face at her, and Sharpay smiled. They started ambling back to the center. "Maybe you could come with me," Logan said, according to his makeshift script.

"Maybe I could," Sharpay said, and they both grimaced at the horrible line. It was a good thing this was only workshop, or else they'd both give it up. Logan paused.

"Hang on," he said, out of character, "do I stop or does she stop?"

"You stop," Sarah directed.

"Okay." Logan slowed to a halt, bringing Sharpay with him. "So...what, do I just pop the question right there?"

Sarah rolled her eyes and looked to Kelsi.

"Hesitantly," Kelsi replied. "It's not..." Sharpay raised an eyebrow at the writer. "Just...it's not what the two of you had planned on," she mumbled quickly.

"Okay," Logan said again. He extracted his arm from Sharpay's, and turned to face her slowly. "I," he began, slipping back into character, "I just...I want to remember this part forever. I, I want to remember you, standing there, and this..." he gestured to his side at empty space, "this pond, and, and the breeze. I'm going to miss you." Behind him, Kelsi nodded, and scribbled more specific notes.

Sharpay smiled softly. "I'm going to miss you, too." They stood closer, until she had to cross her eyes to look at him. "What are we going to do?" she whispered.

Logan paused, took a deep breath, and plunged his hand into his pocket. "Marry me," he said. He tried to pull out an imaginary ring. "Damn," he muttered. "I hope I'm not wearing jeans onstage when we do this," he said to Sarah, his fingers caught under the seam. Sharpay laughed. "Aha. Got it."

"Okay?" Sharpay asked.

"Yeah. Alright." Logan inhaled deeply. "Marry me," he said again.

Sharpay's mouth opened, her eyes widening in shock. "I..." she started to say, but Logan lunged forward, capturing her lips with his.

"Say yes," he whispered when he pulled away. "Please, please marry me."

Sharpay closed her eyes. She said, quite clearly, "No." Sarah frowned, and Kelsi stopped scribbling.

Sharpay said, "Hang on," and stepped away. "Does she say no? It's the ending, so whichever..."

Sarah sighed, "I don't know. We still have a few more months to work on the choreography and the dialogue, tightening up some of the music, and really, it's just a matter of—well, it's not that hard to fix if we want her to say something different."

Sharpay shrugged. "Okay."

"What do you think she'd say?" Sarah asked.

"I don't know. I'm not the writer."

"But you're _her_," Kelsi protested.

Sharpay rolled her eyes. "When does Michelle get to come in?"

"Yeah," Logan cut in, "when's Michelle getting here?"

"She'll come in next week, I promise." Sharpay's stomach growled, and she grinned at her director. "Fine, we'll call it a day. At least we got through the whole thing."

Logan stamped his foot and clapped his hands. "Awesome. Hey Shar."

"Yeah?" Sharpay pulled the bandana from her hair and started unwinding the canvas strip from around her wrist. Sarah and Kelsi gathered their notes and headed out of the studio, discussing the dialogue and music for this new production.

"You wanna go get something to eat? Let me." Logan reached out and tied the cloth. "Better?"

"S'a little tight." She waited for him to unwind and retie it. "Better. Let's go." She snagged her purse from the table and lead Logan out to the sidewalk, surrounded by dingy buildings. "I know a place—"

"Near here," Logan finished for her with a smile. "You always do."

"I do," Sharpay said indignantly, walking confidently. "What gave you any idea otherwise?"

"Nothing." She strode with purposeful steps, fully aware of her entire environment. "God, if anyone was ever in love, you're in love with this city."

Sharpay said, "I'm in love."

"Hey," Logan said, drawing her hand of the crook of his elbow. "You okay?"

"Sure." He looked at her intently. "What?"

"You're...well, 'chelle told me you had like a meltdown crisis a few months ago, and I haven't seen you in—you're different, a bit." Sharpay scoffed. "Or maybe not."

"I'm just waiting to get to the rehearsal stage. When, y'know, when my character is set, and her words are there, and I know the score, and...ugh, workshopping is just so exhausting." Logan didn't avert his gaze. "What?"

"You're getting _old_."

Sharpay pushed him. "Hey there, Rip Van Winkle."

Logan became serious. "But really. What would she say?"

Without hesitation, Sharpay said, "Of course she'd say yes."

---**Summer After East High Senior Year**

---

---

Sharpay walked into her darkened house, and began methodically turning on every light. She kept her movements quick, sharp, mechanical, because emotion wasn't an option here. She wasn't a Method actor, and didn't need to savor this feeling, this horrible, awful feeling that the world was going to swallow her up like she wanted it to. She collapsed at the kitchen counter.

Her entire life, her _entire _life was built up in these next six years, and that idiot, that...god, Chad just had to go and _ruin _it, with a ring, a ring! A damn ring from Tiffany's. She hoped he could return it; it looked expensive. It _was_ expensive. And she'd said no, because...because what the hell, people didn't get married when they were 18, they didn't, it always ended badly.

The choice was already made, she knew. It was made a long time before Chad was even part of the picture, and he was just a side detail, a hitch in the machinery, that she wouldn't get married, not ever, and even if she did, it would be later, later, later. But this was Chad, and no matter what she did, it was always the fact that it was _Chad_ that got her, like he was exempt from every rule and restriction she'd set on her life.

Ryan came home within an hour, ran around turning off the rest of the lights, and sat across from her in the kitchen. He said, "You okay?"

Sharpay felt numb. "I'm numb," she said. "But I'm okay."

"You're always numb."

"Exactly."

"What are you doing after this?" Ryan asked.

Sharpay wondered how innocent he meant that. "I'm going to AMDA, Ryan," she replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

---

---

---

Chad had cut his face shaving. A large, rusty looking gash dressed the right side of his face, and as if on cue, blood sprang and sprung and leaked. He sighed, craned his neck, and washed the wound away.

The answering machine, filled with five blatantly apologetic excuses, had finally shut up. With a towel against his chin, Chad glared at the machine as if IT had cut his face.

"_Hi, Chad, you know your cell phone's off? My flight's late, but I'll definitely be home by nine this morning. I'll see you at Simon's Restaurant for lunch in a few hours! Love you! Bye!"_

"_Hey, Chad, I'm in the lab now, my flight went well, there wasn't a lot of people, something about Tuesday mornings. I'll see you at lunch!"_

"_Honey, I am so sorry, I know we have lunch at 2:30, but—"_

"_It's me again—it's 4:00, I'm trying to get off, I wish you'd answer your cell phone—are you home? What time are you leaving tonight?"_

"_Chad, call me back, please, let's talk before you leave for Houston—"_

Chad sat down on the edge of his bed and stared at the clock. His manager was an hour away, and he had a flight for a game in two hours. The last few weeks were consumed with practice, photo shoots, conferences, and signings.

Rachel liked chemistry. Calculus. Labs. Science. She watched medical operations for fun and absorbed herself in extra lab work when Orlando Bloom went on hiatus. Rachel was a biochemist, and thusly had married work instead of Chad Danforth.

Chad liked basketball. Sports. Really old films. Language. Sharpay. He married Rachel for the wrong reasons, and he knew his current position could only be his own fault. He missed Troy, he missed Albuquerque, and he was, quite frankly, tired of coming home to an empty apartment. Marriage, if anyway, had made him lonelier than ever.

He imagined Rachel felt very similar. She often returned home to an empty household with tired eyes and a throbbing headache, cursing the extensive hours in the lab and the long distance meetings she had to fly to every other week. Her coworkers were all much older than she was, and the gym she had joined as an attempt to meet people closed down a month ago. She was, frankly, more miserable than Chad was.

They had decided, on a rare occasion when both had the same day off, that having children would not happen for at least five more years.

The upside of their situation was their finances. Both had more money than either had ever expected. They were extremely financially stable, but Chad could've cared less, and Rachel had nothing to spend her paychecks on except one half of a vacant apartment.

As Chad finished shaving, he knew he was upset. He did miss Rachel, and he had wanted to see her badly ever since she'd left for her meeting yesterday. The lunch was an apologetic restarter, and now that it had been canceled, Chad didn't know what to do. How do you restart a restarter?

Chad sniffed awkwardly and pressed a towel to his face, soaking up the water from the sink.

As he walked back into the room, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Troy's number.

"Hey, man," Troy answered, and Chad relaxed as heard Troy's voice.

"Hey, you busy next week?"

Troy was clearly trying to cook dinner while talking to Chad, because he could hear the oven going off in the back. "Just work. I was thinking of taking a couple days off, anyway. What's up?"

Chad clicked off the TV, which he had turned on an hour ago. "I was thinking of visiting Albuquerque for a few days."

He heard Troy drop the utensils he was cooking with. Troy said, like a little boy again, "Are you serious? Man, DO IT! I'll take the entire week off!"

Chad laughed. "Good. Then it's settled. Let me look online for tickets, and you tell me the days you're free. God, I miss Albuquerque."

"It misses you, Chad," Troy said encouragingly, and the two 26-year-olds grinned through their phones like high schoolers again.

-

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**AN TehFuzzyPenguin: **So...this musical. I don't know what it's going to be about. except I know exactly what I'm going to do with it. We'll see. And Troy cooks! aawwwwww...and now we're out of cushion chapters (although I'm the one who's supposed to be writing now). Thanks for seeing us through all this!  
**Star Vitamin:** Woo! Chad's seeing Troy, and Sharpay's gearing up for her musical! Thanks again to everyone who's stuck with us over the months (our irregularities with updating are annoying, I know).


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